To Aru Majutsu no Imagine Destroyer I
by lvl7judgelight
Summary: Before there was Imagine Breaker, there was Imagine Destroyer. A prequel story of the previous owner of imagine breaker. WARNING: This is very gory. Do not approach if you were expecting someone x someone fanfic. Arc 1: Index Arc; Welcome back, and this is a prequel to my other story, to aru kagaku no imagine weaver. Read that first.
1. Chapter 0

"Hello."

_I understand that you wish to take a job of cleaning a certain magician in Japan, am I right?_

"Who is this?"

_If you are willing to cooperate with me, I can give you a sum of five million dollars on your account. If I am right, that is ten times the sum of what the other has offered, isn't it?_

"It's not the question of money. I don't do my job unless I am thoroughly briefed."

…_I understand. First of all, just call me Alex. I am your supposed target, but I know that having you as my enemy is the worst possible mistake I can ever make, so I want to offer you much more money for a harder job._

"Well, what is the job?"

_Dissolve the group who hired you. Dissolve GREMLIN._

"How badly?"

_Can I take that as a yes?_

"Depends on how badly you want me to do it."

_I want you to shut it down thoroughly and paralyze the entire group. Do not stop at killing only the key people but also kill the followers and supporters._

"For five million American Dollars?"

_Yes._

* * *

Jonathan thought for a while.

Indeed, the money was a good pay. However, he knew that GREMLIN was not an easy opponent. Rather than destroying a whole group, it might be easier to take down just one magician.

He needed a good reason that surpassed money to side this magician.

"I'm not too interested," said Jonathan. "Make me."

Almost immediately, Jonathan's cellphone rang. He got out his phone and found names and affiliations of the group that hired him.

_They believe that you cannot kill me easily. Therefore, they are going to surveillance you and make sure that the first person you see after my death is one of GREMLIN'S. Then, they will torture you to give away your left hand. If you don't oblige, they plan on cutting your arm from shoulder and using it as a weapon to change the world as we know it._

"Hmm."

_So, what's your answer? Will you help me out and kill the people who wants to kill you, or will you kill me and die a dog's death?_

Jonathan emotionlessly blinked, and snorted. "I don't want to die."

_So do I._

Jonathan put his cellphone back into his pocket and said to the person across the payphone, "I'm in."

* * *

**Well that break didn't take a while.**

**Hello, this is lvl7judgelight.**

**I'm the writer of to aru kagaku no Imagine Weaver, and for those who haven't read that yet, go and read it. You'll absolutely love it if you wanted toaru series to be more than harem-based and more story-based.**

**For this series, I will be writing seven arcs of one series, To aru Majutsu no Imagine Destroyer. The story will follow through the previous owner of Imagine Breaker, Jonathan.**

**You do not need to know anything beyond this. If you have only seen the anime, you're welcomed. If you have only seen Railgun anime, you're welcomed. If you have only seen the movie, why are you here? I mean...you're welcomed.**

**Well then, screw with the prologue.**

**Enjoy the life of this heroic non-hero.**


	2. Chapter 1

The middle-aged man trembled at the sight.

"Why…I just asked for deletion…"

"This is his method," said the monitor, voice-only. "The targets usually…no, always struggle. They have been depending too much on their powers and when someone tries to take them away—"

"What reason could possibly justify _this!"_

The middle-aged man could barely glance at the picture. He covered his mouth to block his barfing and managed to swallow his disgust down.

"Even if he decided to kill the target…he could have performed euphemism and not chop the target into six pieces!"

"You didn't specify the method in which to kill the target," said the voice. "You did not even specify whether you wanted the target dead or alive. We have been very clear on that part."

"It is a given that I would want as less attention as possible!"

"A _given _does not exist on our part of the world," said the voice. "Now, regarding the sum of money you will be forwarding…"

"Don't be crude!" yelled the middle-aged man. "I cannot pay full amount for this. You should be thankful I am paying at all."

And, for a split second, the middle-aged man could have sworn a snort from the opposite side of the monitor.

"I understand your anger," said the voice, not at all in a sympathizing and/or apologizing tone, "but I don't recommend that action. Numerous people have asked the Number One for deletion, and no matter what he did, they did not pay under the promised full amount."

"Or what?" said the man. "Is he going to turn an entire nation as his enemy?"

Silence fell.

"…Are you serious?"

"Of course, he does not have the resource or ability to destroy a whole nation, but making him your enemy is always the worst possible mistake anyone can make."

The man's hand trembled, but no longer from disgust.

"Are you…do you dare to…are you threatening me?"

"The last time someone didn't give the full payment, the Number One had enough sense not to kill anyone, but he nearly slaughtered the whole house of army."

"You _are_ threatening me!"

"I am just telling you to think rationally," said the voice. "He has chosen this path for nothing more than money. If you do not give him even that…"

The man's hand trembled.

"…I am not going to ever ask this man for deletion again."

The voice smirked. "That's what everyone says."

* * *

Jonathan.

He was the man who was sexually attracted to black hoodies.

For some reason, right now, he was in Japan, but he wished he wasn't. It was not that he did not like Japan, but—

Well, there were reasons.

Jonathan's surname was unknown even to Jonathan himself. He only found out—not to mention recently—that his parents—whoever they were, he had no idea, and first of all, he wasn't curious, because if they found out who, where and what their son was, the last thing they would be is be proud of him—named him Jonathan before he was kidnapped.

Yes, he was kidnapped.

And, for some reason, the kidnapper did not keep Jonathan for himself and decided that it was best to put him in the worst possible orphanage in the world. Jonathan escaped, like in cheap hero comics, and was kidnapped again.

But, that is a later story.

Anyhow, this Jonathan—the man in the hood, the mage-killer, the worst demon in the world, the number one, was walking to ATM to get his money from his last job.

Jonathan had his hands tugged into his hoodie as he walked leisurely through the alley. He knew that it was not too safe to walk through the alley, but neither was it too safe to be spotted by a cop.

He didn't think that it was likely. He always kept his identity incognito and even if he was known, he didn't think his purchasers would happily let the world know about their wet jobs.

It was just more comforting to walk through the alley than to face the cops.

Jonathan thought back to his nicknames and remembered one epithet that he loved to call himself—epithet: Imagine Destroyer (幻想虐殺者/lit: Fantasy Slaughterer). It was not that he enjoyed being called that. No one—not even the Number One—liked to be called a slaughterer. No, Jonathan liked it because it just fit him perfectly.

Of course, no one called him that. Jonathan had enough sense not to let anyone know about the name beside himself.

And, even if they knew, they would not want to call Jonathan that. The very mention of the name forced Jonathan to turn his attention to the speakers of the name and murder them in a quiet alleyway or something.

Jonathan himself didn't care, but he couldn't ignore the significance of knowing that name.

In fact, they could call Jonathan anything. They could call him slaughterer as much as they liked—after all, it was just a job that he did, and he wasn't exactly trying to befriend any of them. In fact, he was trying to massacre them, and if he were picky in what they called him, he was being too cruel.

And, that was another irony Jonathan had to snort to. Jonathan was already as cruel as he could by slicing them off.

Jonathan sighed and got rid of the useless thought. Before he realized it, he was drawing out the money from the ATM he somehow got to and was putting it into his pocket. He put on his hoodie hat back on and turned around to head back to his van.

But, not even after walking for three steps, Jonathan paused, then changed his direction to another alley.

He had company.

They were three heavy footsteps. They were inexperienced, but a little taller than him and much heavier than him. Judo techniques would suffice, but there must be allies. It wasn't that Jonathan was a psychic. If three heavy inexperienced footsteps were following him, it was likely that they had accomplices.

Jonathan looked around and closed his eyes. He silenced his breathing to hear more sound, and heard eight more presence in the corner of the alley he was heading to. Judging from the momentary clash of iron, they were armed, and even he couldn't take them all down at once.

Well, not through fighting face-to-face anyway.

Jonathan jumped and started climbing the walls. It was not too high, so he didn't need to switch from wall to wall like in Hong Kong films. Jonathan hid on the rooftop and silenced his breath. The gang got restless and started to argue on who was to climb up the apartment. Jonathan looked around and found some stones. He grabbed them and threw them down without hesitation. Three men cried in pain—eight more to go.

Jonathan got his money out and put it in his inner pocket to provide more motility. He then ran towards the next rooftop and jumped without hesitation. The gangs found him and started to yell, ordering each other to look for stairs and for pipes to use for climbing. Jonathan quickly ran to the next house and hid behind the door of the stairs.

Soon enough, five heavy footsteps ran to Jonathan with constant clanking of the iron bat. Jonathan grabbed the doorknob and waited. The crew got restless and tried to kick the door. When Jonathan heard one's footstep stop, he opened the door and retracted his hand. One bulky thug kicked the midair and started to wobble. Jonathan punched his ear and pulled him out of the way then got his bat to stab the neck of the next one. While he was falling, Jonathan slid down the stairs and kicked the soft spots of the next two. While the four were groaning, Jonathan climbed back the stairs and pushed the coughing second thug down by head-butting his balls. The fifth one lost his balance and fell down the stairs and was squashed by four other. Jonathan went to the first one and checked his pulse. It was lively, so Jonathan gave another kick in the head. The first thug stopped moving. Jonathan checked his pulse again and made sure that he was down.

And he was.

After pushing the first one down the stairs and locking the door from outside, Jonathan looked around jumped down. It wasn't a long way down and Jonathan rolled twice before landing, so Jonathan didn't feel any stress in his legs.

Sounds of people gathering roamed. However, they were still too far away and behind Jonathan were the final three thugs.

This time, Jonathan did not have any tricks up his sleeves. Jonathan simply turned around with the iron bat in his hand.

* * *

"Eleven dead bodies?" repeated the police.

"Yessir," replied one of the men. "They were beaten severely and murdered. Six died from losing too much blood from the head, one died from what I believe is suffocation, one died from a blow to the head, and three died from—"

"Decapitation," received the police as he looked at the crime scene.

"They were street thugs with a little reputation who had been in the police station for numerous times, but all they did was pick-pocket some school kids. They did not do anything bad enough to…well, receive this."

The old man grumbled and looked at the face of the dead—a dreaded, completely terrified face.

"Did we find any traces of DNA or whatsoever?"

"We are still looking, but a cut this clean could only mean that we are dealing with a trained professional, and if that is so, I doubt that we can ever find traces of DNA anywhere. Plus, the scene itself was covered in blood when the report first came in."

"Well, keep looking."

The man saluted, "Yessir."

After the man walked away, the old man looked again at the three terrified heads and felt disgusted. Even after seeing countless bodies, he still could not help but feel a chill through his spine upon imagining how merciless the killer would have been when he cut their throats.

"You targeted a wrong guy, huh?" muttered the policeman. He lighted a cigarette and began smoking.

* * *

"Decapitating people is something that even UN will get concerned of," said the Voice in British-English. "Please refrain from killing them afterwards."

"They saw me getting a lot of money, they saw me fighting off eleven guys at once, they saw me jumping from buildings, and you expect me to let them off?" replied Jonathan in American-English.

"But there could have been other ways besides decapitation."

"I didn't want them to cry for help. It's freakin' annoying and gets so rowdy," Jonathan muttered as he searched through the top shelf of the van and found a chocolate bar he hasn't eaten yet. Without remembering when he bought it, or concerning himself with the possibility of stomachache, Jonathan opened the package and bit the corner.

"So, you have another job for me?"

"None yet," said the voice. "Everyone is a little eerie of using you as the hitman after…the last time."

"What, I did exactly what they asked me to do. I erased their powers as they asked. It's just that one of them struggled too much so I just shot him. But then another one started to struggle too much so I killed him too. Then another and another until I killed them all. It's not exactly my fault."

No sound came from the other side of the screen.

"I didn't call you to preach me," said Jonathan. "Like I said, if there is anyone interested in hiring me, just call me up. I'll still be in this Archipelago until tomorrow."

"You've always hated Japan."

"Yeah, I have, and I always will."

The voice coughed, and said in Japanese, "Then, I will call you tomorrow."

"Scram," muttered Jonathan, taking off his hoodie and getting out another blood-stained hoodie from within—yes, he carries two hoodies around. After throwing the blood-stained hoodie on the floor, Jonathan picked up a dirty shirt from the floor and started wiping his bloodied chest.

Jonathan simply stared at the hoodie on the floor without any emotion. Nothing stirred within. It was empty, as if he was tired of feeling guilty all the time.

In fact, that was exactly how he felt. It was not an _as if._ It was just how he felt.

"Guess I'll get some noodles then…" muttered Jonathan in Japanese. He fumed a little for speaking the language of the land he hated when he was all by himself, but kept his composure and started searching under the pillow.

And there was his revolver.

Jonathan opened the cartridge and confirmed six sand rounds. There was no problem. They were all soaked yesterday, so the blood should still be usable.

Putting the gun in his inner side pocket, Jonathan left the van.

* * *

"Excuse me," said a woman. Jonathan did not turn around and first read her hostility. She was not piqued by any of Jonathan's senses. She was probably asking for directions, based on the fact that she spoke English.

"Yes?" said Jonathan in English as well, turning around and finding a brown-haired lady in her fifties. Jonathan eyed her bag and her smile. They seemed pretty harmless, and she didn't look like a hired killer who was going to slit his throat the first time he got his guards down.

"Ah, thank God I found an English-speaking person!" exclaimed the lady as she smiled good-naturedly and got out a little note. "I'm going to my husband's hospital, but the address is written in Japanese so I really couldn't tell. Could you please translate this for me?"

"…"

That sounded a little fishy.

Jonathan kept one hand in his pocket where a little gun was and took the note by his left hand. He smiled a bit awkwardly and looked at the content of the note.

Then, his expression froze.

"Who gave you this address, ma'am?" asked Jonathan.

"Oh, I just copied it off from the…what you call it, the internet!"

That explained a lot.

"Where was that place, ma'am?"

"Ah, it was the convenience store you just came out from!" said the lady. "Anyhow, do you know where this is?"

"I'm not really from around here, so I can't tell. Sorry ma'am."

"Oh, I see," said the lady. "Well, thank you anyway!"

"Ah, can I keep this note?" asked Jonathan. "I'll copy off the address and give it to you in short while."

"Oh, sure. What do you want to do with it?"

"Well, I thought I might find the address off from internet, so that I'll find it."

"Oh, no! It's really fine!"

"No, I insist," said Jonathan, with a little _different _expression.

The lady shivered. Her smile turned a bit crooked, and she nodded with a white, bloodless face. "Oh…oh sure, I don't mind at all."

Jonathan tilted his head for gratitude and ran to the convenience store. But then he realized—there was no computer in the convenience store.

Jonathan clicked his tongue and pulled off his cell. He quickly pressed some numbers.

And, in his hands were four simple letters:

禁書目録 (Index).

This was not an address. It was a blackmailing.

There was no such thing as _Prohibited Library_ in the ordinary world besides in the world he was familiar with.

It was the next target.

And that person was warning Jonathan that he/she can turn anyone who was as innocent as the lady outside into blood pudding.

Jonathan quickly got out a post-it and wrote a random address into it. He put the paper in his pocket and ran out.

"Here, ma'am," said Jonathan. "And next time, don't mistake an ATM machine for a computer."

The lady received the post-it, and before she could say anything, Jonathan ran off into the alley.

* * *

"What the f*** is this?" yelled Jonathan to the phone while running, but not loud enough for people to hear. "I thought you had Japan under control. I thought I was safe here."

"I said no one would _deliberately_ try to overturn Japan with 144 saints in it," said the voice. "So, what does the memo exactly say?"

"It's just a note saying _Index_ in a weird kanji that translates into _Prohibited Library,"_ said Jonathan. "You know about this?"

No words came. Jonathan couldn't really tell since the voice was just on the phone, but Jonathan was sure that he knew what the note was referring to.

"You know about this person?"

"Not really," said the voice.

That was obviously a lie.

"Fine then. I won't dig into it, but you better find out what's the deal, because I came all the way to this archipelago that I hate to be for protection, and if there's no protection, I'm moving right away."

Jonathan waited for a response, but no voice came out. He got the phone off his ears and realized that the man already hung up.

"That motherf***er," muttered Jonathan. He kept running to his van in the alley.

* * *

Jonathan blinked.

He stood up and started moving through his daily routine. He got his clothes out of the saltwater, checked if his gun was still all loaded, checked his blood level by taking his pulse, and started cooking his breakfast.

Although that said, it was already in the middle of the night, so it was really a dinner.

As the water of the boiler started to warm up, Jonathan looked at the black screen, then at his phone.

Nothing.

He had been waiting for the voice to say something, but it was just quietness. It was as if he had abandoned Jonathan.

What was with that Prohibited Library that made this ruler go into his shoes and crawl?

Jonathan sighed. "Well, none of my business really."

And, Jonathan realized that he spoke Japanese again. But this time, he felt less angry than the last time. After all, one was bound to speak the language of the land he has been in if he had been there for a year.

Jonathan shook his head and turned off the boiler before the water started to boil too much, and poured the water into the noodle cup. After closing the top of the cup, Jonathan waited for the noodle to soften up.

Then, all of a sudden—

"Good morning, number one," said the voice.

Jonathan twitched. Now of all times, when he was about to eat, the voice calls him to say something. On top of that, he was speaking Japanese again.

"It's afternoon, you shithead," said Jonathan in Japanese as well. He was too irritated to point out the fact that he was not the number one because he didn't technically exist to begin with. He was also irritated that he couldn't eat his noodles anymore. He was too irritated to even point out the fact that he didn't like speaking Japanese. He was too irritated to even point out the fact that it was not afternoon but past midnight. Still, he calmed down and stood up to test his ammunitions and handguns that were hiding on the top shelf. After all, the only reason the voice called him was to tell Jonathan to run or to kill, and in either situation, he needed to bring his supplies.

"Who is it this time?" said Jonathan, opening the top shelf and getting out a handgun and two magazines.

After a little pause, the voice replied. "You're going to England. We've got a top priority magician in there. She was one of Roman Catholic, but the Anglicans retrieved her from them and put her in secure position. However, we've recently figured out her location and wish to destroy her."

That sounded not too fun.

"That's nice," murmured Jonathan, not really meaning the words. "How powerful is she?"

"She is a top priority even over Aleister Crowley. She is strong."

Jonathan twitched. How did this man know about his other job that he put on hold?

But then, Jonathan realized the person he was talking about, and sighed. "Even stronger than Alex? That's rare."

"With Aleister-kun's calculation ability and exterior, he can probably beat her using elaborate trap, but in a one-on-one fight, his chance of beating her is lower than five percent."

_You've done your homework you goddamn stalker _was what Jonathan wanted to say, but he was smart enough to realize that saying that will admit his working for other jobs besides the ones the voice gave him, and that could mean a lot of things from losing his job to getting killed.

So, he decided to play along.

"And, you want me to fight that monster, huh? That's nice."

Of course, Jonathan knew that it was no problem. He was never going to be killed. He could never die with his left arm's power and the sand rounds. However, playing along will get this stalker to behave a little. In fact, Jonathan was ready to play along with anything this stalker said.

Until he spoke on.

"She's of no threat at the moment. She actually is the one who requested the destruction."

Jonathan's hand froze for a while, but he swallowed his surprised and replied, "Heeh." He stood up a bit quickly and pulled out a chocolate bar he had bought some months ago from the stand above—again.

What kind of magician requested to be destroyed?

All the targets he had dealt so far was boastful to their guts that Jonathan had no problem wiping their face off their body, but every one of the targets were pleading him to not erase their powers before Jonathan killed them. Almost all of them were too saddened of the fact that they were no longer magicians that they struggled on and made Jonathan kill them.

What kind of magician that was stronger than the strongest magician requested for something that magicians thought was worse than death?

"So, what exactly is her power?" said Jonathan, swallowing the questions down his throat.

The monitor paused for a second.

For that one second, Jonathan was ready to ask the ones who owe him favors to find this hell of a cliffhanger and deliver him the sand rounds he made himself to the voice's head.

"Have you heard of 103,000 grimores?" said the voice before his fate was sealed.

Jonathan raised his left brow and a little of his right brow. Yesterday, he met someone who carried a note with _Prohibited Library _written on it, and now he was requested to destroy someone with the power of 103,000 grimores. It was a simple addition of two and two together, but Jonathan decided to play along that day.

"No, but I'm going to destroy it," said Jonathan, pulling off the cock of the handgun and checking its durability.

A smirk was heard through the screen. Jonathan knew that he knew that Jonathan knew that he was just playing along, but Jonathan didn't say a word.

"Good answer, Destroyer-san."

Jonathan stopped his hand from pulling the cock. He never heard this man call him by that epithet before.

What was the sudden change of heart?

It was, like Jonathan thought so earlier, not a huge deal. However, calling him the Destroyer was not something anyone did. It was not a big deal, but this man unconsciously called Jonathan the _Destroyer._

Why?

But, all the questions seemed pointless when the voice spoke on.

"We've arranged everything for you, so you just have to board the jet. You'll be England in 4 hours."

"Geh," said Jonathan, and a little loudly. He dropped one of his magazines he held on his right hand to practice reloading and made an irritated face. "I'm riding that thing?"

"It's the fastest way to get there," said the voice.

_I know, _Jonathan said to himself, but instead of saying that out loud picked up the magazine he dropped and started practicing reloading again.

"Please understand the situation. What's more, the cost of one ticket is way above the charts. Most people never get the chance to ride one, and are dying to."

_Then just give them the ticket _was what Jonathan wanted to say, but he sighed and instead said, "That's because they have never ridden it. It's freakin' fast. You are not travelling somewhere with that speed—you're just suffering from the pressure the whole time."

"I take that as a yes."

_What part of that sentence was a yes?_ Jonathan thought.

"Well then, enjoy your ride. Your contact will support you with your guns and target information."

The monitor went off.

Jonathan sat down, and looked at the noodle cup.

"Yareyare," muttered Jonathan. He couldn't help but get irritated at how much one-sided that conversation was, but if he was getting paid for it, he had no problem. "Guess I'll have to live with that…"

Then Jonathan paused.

The question he has been holding since a while back.

The girl _requested_ for the destruction. What kind of magician would request destruction?

Having power was having protection—Jonathan always thought that way. That's why the strong, rich ones requested him with murder every day. They wanted someone with power to protect their fat butts.

However, this girl, instead of using her power to protect herself, wanted to get rid of it.

"What an idiot," muttered Jonathan. He then picked up the noodle cup, but realized that it has gotten cold and the noodle was still hard.

"Was the water not warm enough?" muttered Jonathan in Japanese again, but he didn't even give a thought about it this time. He was too taken to the noodle. He clicked his tongue and opened up the cup. He poured the whole thing into his mouth and started crunching the noodle. He then checked his handgun one last time and threw the cup to the trash can.

_It's not my business to think,_ thought Jonathan. And it was true. He didn't have to sit there thinking of what to do—he just had to follow the orders of the fat-asses who paid him. He just had to do the usual—use his left hand to destroy the girl's magic circuit, and if she struggled as usual, he just had to shoot her in the head.

"Piece of cake," muttered Jonathan.

But before he exited the van, one question went through his head.

If _he _lost his power, will he stop having to kill for those fat-asses?

He knew that the question was something that could trouble his head, and that he had to stop thinking about it before _he started thinking about it._

But, he was anyway.

So, Jonathan started to actually consider the case.

His power, Imagine Breaker (幻想殺し: lit. Fantasy Killer), was a power that could destroy any and all magical abilities. Now that his power developed into Imagine Destroyer, it could destroy the magic circuit of the magicians and turn them into ordinary people with no power, unable to perform any sort of magic, even if it uses idolatry.

That's why Jonathan was hired numerous times.

He was the strongest weapon against the magicians. He could just walk to them and grab their head and crash their magic circuit, and they would never again be a threat to anyone. That why the fat-asses liked to hire him for assassination—although his way of doing things was closer to butchering than silent assassination.

If his power somehow disappeared from his body—not just from his left arm, but from the two-meter radius that his power affected—will the fat-asses leave him be and will he have an ordinary life like the people around him? Like that old lady in the convenience store? Will he be able to guide people around without needing to check every time it he or she was a hired killer? Will he be able to trust people and take them to their addresses without needing to trick them? Will he be able to live without needing to chop off the heads of the ones who saw him?

Jonathan's hand rested on the van's door for quite a while. But, soon enough, he stood from the van and closed the van.

"It's too late for that."

* * *

"Hello, missis," said the priest.

Silence.

"To repeat your request," said the priest, "you would like me to delete the book from your memory?"

Another silence.

The girl was being escorted by three other priests. But, the girl herself wore a Catholic nun's clothes and bore a cross when she was in fact in an Anglican Church.

But, no one said a word as she nodded.

"There are only two ways of doing this," said the priest. "Calling upon the prince of darkness, or by passing it on to someone else. I understand that you've chosen the first, or am I mistaken?"

The girl shook her head.

"I see," said the priest. "Just to be clear, have you contacted any other organization for the deletion?"

The girl twitched, but slowly shook her head sideways.

"I see," said the priest. "Then, I suppose we can proceed."

"Father!" said one of the priests. "This is blasphemy. I cannot take part in such an act."

"What is more important to you, a life of one who has been struggling all her life, or a rule we magicians created ourselves for the sake of its being misused?"

"As you said, it is a magic that eats our souls off!" yelled the priest. "Why do we have to go that far for a member of Catholic Church?"

"SILENCE!"

The man twitched and backed off. He noticed not anger from the priest's face but determination. The priest knew that he was trying to protect him, but he already has decided on his fate.

"In the end of the day, is it our tainted soul that will be judged, or our will to perform good, Marco?" said the priest. "I believe that our God is not a rulebook but our Father. Am I mistaken and have been following a rulebook for my whole life?"

Marco bit his lips and didn't answer. He could see that the matter has already been decided.

Upon Marco's silence, the priest turned back to the nun and smiled forcefully. "I am sorry for the ruckus. Now then, please come with me. Even if I am a blasphemed priest, I do not wish to perform calling of the devil in the Lord's house."

The girl trembled. Two drops of tears sled down from her eyes. The priest's hand stopped as he looked at the girl with gentle eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" said the girl. "It's just my selfish request, but you…but you…you are willing to…"

"Shh," said the priest. "It's not your fault."

"But it really is," said the girl. "I did something bad behind your back and betrayed your trust. And I went even as far as lying to you."

The priest twitched, and retracted his hand.

"It was my own will," said the man. "There is absolutely nothing that will change my mind."

"I HIRED HIM!" yelled the girl.

The whole Church froze. Everyone simply stood there, stunned by the words of the nun. Even the priest's face was white. The blood from his face was drawn off as if he was ready to be executed.

However, the priest shook his head.

"It is fine," said the priest. "In fact, it is a better thing since now, after the demon possesses your soul, the man can delete his presence."

"Aren't you going to get angry to me?" yelled the girl. "I just sealed off your fate to your death! No one, and I mean no one can survive him! No magician! No army! Even an archangel ran away from him because she was too scared to face him!"

The people in the Church started to waver. Some of them crashed down to the floor since their legs were trembling too much. Some of them even started to wet themselves despite the fact that they were grown men.

"I am a servant of the Lord," said the priest. "I will do what is right. In fact, now that I know that the Destroyer is coming to us, I am even more determined to call upon the demon."

"I will not be a part of this!" yelled one of the priests. He screamed from the top of his lungs and ran out of the Church. The other priests, and especially the ones who wet themselves, followed his example and ran out of the Church, screaming as loud as they can.

Soon, there were only Marco and the priest in the Church.

"You are staying?" said the priest.

"I am going to kill that blasphemy of a man," said Marco as he pulled out a gun. "I will finish what our Church had been trying to do for the rest of our lives, and even paid our lives to fulfill."

"And by committing that act, you believe that there will be good on our Earth?"

"At least one evil will be eradicated!" yelled Marco. "Father, for the love of the son of God, please identify the situation at hand! You are being targeted by the wielder of the strongest anti-God weapon! You will not survive his gun!"

"I do not mind."

"Father!"

"He is not evilness," said the priest. "He is a lost lamb, like I have been in my earlier life. However, unlike him, I deliberately, from my own heart, deflowered the many women, took the money from innocents, and even burned down an entire house."

"But you are not that man any longer!" yelled Marco. "You are now a priest who loves the Lord more than any other!"

"Because I had been delivered from that hell," said the priest. "I have been delivered from the hell and lived life in happiness over a decade, but that man has lived hell since the beginning of his life."

Marco tried to say something, but then realized that the priest was yet determined again.

"Please, father," said Marco, "save yourself. I will hold off the Destroyer. You can run away while I do so."

"No, Marco," said the father. "I shall be responsible for my own actions, not you."

"F***ING GODDAMMIT! LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE, YOU PIGHEAD!"

Silence fell. The nun started to run away. The priest twitched, waved his hand at her and prayed rapidly. She immediately fell down and lay on the cold Church floor.

"Tie her up and take her to the main building of the house of priests. Now that no one is in there, I can use that place to summon the demon."

"I will not take part in this!" said Marco. "Let this woman be killed for all I care!"

"MARCO!" yelled the priest. "We are in the Lord's chamber. Do not let that go in va—"

"WHAT THE F*** HAS THAT LORD DONE TO SAVE YOU!" Marco yelled.

"HE HAS DONE EVERYTHING AND MORE THAN ANYONE HAS EVER DONE!" yelled the priest as well.

Marco's head fell. He knew that no matter how much sense he tried to put into this old geezer's head, it was worthless effort.

"…You're going to say that He gave you hope, aren't you?"

The priest smiled. "You know me too well, Marco."

Marco raised his head. "I'm still not going to let you die. I'll set up guards. Is that not against your belief?"

The priest shook his head slowly. "If you think that is going to stop the Destroyer from coming, do your absolute best. I would also prefer it if I could serve the Lord on Earth and not in Heaven."

"Why do you assume that you will go to heaven, blaspheming geezer?" said Marco. The two laughed for a while, then stopped soon enough.

"That said, I guess I'm a blaspheming priest too."

The priest smiled. "God is not a petty man. He never gives up on us. His last wish was for us to tell the Good News to people and not to chain ourselves with his generosity."

"You sure know how to rabble your mouth, old man," said Marco. "Fine, I'm in."

He took off the rope that was binding his priest cloth and tied the nun's hands. While covering her mouth and eyes after ripping off the shoulder of his cloth, Marco turned one last time at the priest.

He was looking at the cross and praying.

Marco stared at the man, and turned back to binding the nun. "A real-life Faust, huh…"

Marco picked the nun up by his shoulder and walked out of the Church.

The old priest turned at the door once and turned back to the cross.

"Lord, I don't know if what I am doing is a right deed, and I am afraid of not dying but offending you," said the priest. "However, I know for a fact that those two poor souls need your guidance."

The man bowed down at the altar.

"Please, my Lord," said the priest, "guide your lost lamb into deliverance, like you had done for me."

The priest twitched, and looked at the cross again, then around.

No one was there.

Just the empty Church.

However, just now…

"My Lord," muttered the priest to the empty Church floor, "thank you."

The priest stood up and bowed once more to the cross. Then, leaving the mysterious talker in the Church, he left the house of God.


	3. Chapter 2

**Good day. This is lvl7judgelight, the writer of Le7en.**

**For those who haven't read this story before, welcome.**

**For those who followed me here from Le7en, welcome back.**

**I cannot promise that you will love this story from the start to the end. I can't promise either that you won't find any grammatical/idea errors on the book at all either.**

**But, i can promise one thing.**

**If you wanted toaru series to be something more than harem garden, you will absolutely, 100% love this.**

**Then, enjoy.**

* * *

"This way, sir," said the man in black.

Jonathan looked at the black sedan. It was undoubtedly bulletproof, and they must have had armed specialists inside. However, being that he was under a business, Jonathan had to comply with the black-suited man.

So Jonathan entered the car.

The car drove through the night of the Japan. The roads were silent as if not a soul was in the entire country. There were voices of the dogs' cry now and then, but Jonathan could not hear them thanks to the car's soundproof system.

Jonathan looked at the people in the car. They were all tense. Jonathan smirked coldly and looked outside the window. He could not feel any magical traces from any of them, so they were all normal people, yet they were afraid of a man with his hands free in the air.

However, Jonathan ignored them. It was the usual after all.

The car kept driving through the silent road.

* * *

"This looks promising."

With his hands tugged into the much-liked black hoodie of his, Jonathan breathed out the cold air to the enormous rocket.

No, it was not exactly a rocket. There was a ladder for a passenger seat and wheels for landing and takeoff. However, its round front, enormous jet engine and the small wings resembled one very much.

"Even I haven't ridden this thing too much," muttered Jonathan. He turned to the man in black suit and raised his hand. The man signaled the fence behind Jonathan. From outside the fence, three more men in black suits walked towards Jonathan and started to check his body.

However, unlike how usual weapon inspection goes in the airport, they found numerous deadly weapons.

The blond man got two grenades from the hip of his jeans, the black-haired man unloaded two knives well-hidden in the thigh area of his jeans and the bald man found a revolver in his right pocket. However, they were not a bit alarmed as they put the weapons back into their original places and let Jonathan pass.

"Nice to meet you, Number One," said the man beside the jet. "I am the ambassador of United Kingdom."

"Pleasure to meet you," said Jonathan, who refused the handshake the man offered by waving his hand lightly. The ambassador did not look offended as he approached a coffin-sized iron box.

"This is all the weapons your contact has requested for this deletion," said the ambassador. "Please review them and do not hesitate to ask for more."

Jonathan casually opened the iron box and found the sniper rifle he requested from before, two submachine guns, two handguns and a bazooka.

Jonathan's left eye twitched.

"Excuse me, sir," said Jonathan, "whose idea was it to put a bazooka in here?"

"It was mine," said the ambassador. "Is there a problem?"

"Ah, no, never mind." Jonathan would have gotten irritated if it was the voice who asked for it, but if it was this man, Jonathan could understand better.

"Do you care to share your plan?" said the ambassador.

Jonathan nodded as he took nothing but the two handguns, two silencers and a bag of ammunition. "Is there the van that I requested with the life support package?"

"Yes," said the ambassador. "It is a black van enough to hold about eleven people, and it has blocks on all windows but the front as you requested."

"I'll be observing the Church for two hours and if nothing out of place happens, I'll immediately go for the weakest corner. Then I will go for the building the target is in, destroy her magic circuits and leave."

"I'm sorry," said the ambassador, "but I believe there is a little alteration to that. We would be delighted if you were to bring the target back to Japan alive."

Jonathan's hands stopped from putting on the leather gun holder for the pistol. "Come again?"

"One of my superiors has requested that the target must be taken alive and back to Japan. I do not know the details myself. Should this job be too much hassle for you, I can always hire more—"

"No, it's no problem. It just…surprised me."

The ambassador nodded. "It confuses me as well. However, we are to follow rules, unfortunately. Would you like one of my men to carry that for you?"

"No, I'm fine," said Jonathan as he returned to the box and got out a sniper rifle, two submachine guns and one more bag of ammunition. He glanced at the bazooka, but then he sighed and started to wear a bulletproof jacket with two gun holders in the back. After he finished, Jonathan turned back to the rocket and started walking.

"Were you to fail," said the ambassador as Jonathan started climbing the ladder with all the bulks on his hands, "please understand as we will not be responsible of any position you get into. We will abandon you and the target and snipe both of you down."

"I take that as you will be watching me," said Jonathan as he entered the passenger seat. He rummaged through the inside of his hoodie and dropped six red bullets down to the ambassador. The three men in suits immediately pulled out their pistol and pulled the ambassador back from the bullets, then realized that they were bullets and looked at Jonathan in confusion, not to mention the ambassador.

"Those are soaked with my blood!" yelled Jonathan as he had to shout to the ambassador from a considerable height. "If they come near a kilometer from me, they act as one-minute-long Imagine Destroyer before my blood loses the remains of Imagine Breaker! Take them to the best snipers you have and tell him to shoot me and the target if I fail!"

The ambassador simply looked at Jonathan as he emotionlessly put all the weapons on the floor and belted himself. The ambassador picked up the bullets as a sudden feeling of guilt struck his heart.

This man wanted to make sure that the target would not fall into the wrong hands, and even planned his own death at that. He was a professional, but there was something about him that was almost noble.

No, that was not the only emotion the ambassador felt from Jonathan.

Ambassador was angry on how easily this man gave up his life.

No, that was not the word.

Disgusted.

The ambassador was disgusted to this man, although he admired his professionalism.

This man would throw away his life for nothing more than a simple failure. He will accept nothing less than perfection.

"Get him out of here," said the ambassador as he put the six bullets into his pocket. The three men nodded immediately and signaled each other. They ran out of the port and went outside the fence again.

The engines started to ignite, and Jonathan put the oxygen mask on.

"Here's the worst part," muttered Jonathan.

And, as if to prove him right, the engine blasted Jonathan away into England.

* * *

It was day when Jonathan arrived at Great Britain.

"Thank you," said Jonathan in English as he threw two bags of ammunition at the black-suited men on the airport. There were six men and two women agents on the airport. Two agents—one man and one woman—led Jonathan to the car. He nodded in gratitude and received the car keys.

"And the profile?" asked Jonathan. The female agent handed the folder that she was holding. Jonathan nodded again in gratitude and opened it.

The address, inside view, location of the sniper, location of target, and the name and brief description of each buildings were in the folder.

"Thank you," said Jonathan. He clicked the car key and opened the driver seat. He tried his best to ignore the two escorts that followed him like tails of a cat, and entered the car, throwing the guns and opening the back for the men to put the ammunition in.

After the agents were done with their job, Jonathan closed the door with a bam. He looked for the switch then noticed that the ignition needed keys.

"This is old-fashioned," muttered Jonathan as he got out the key and clicked in to start the car. He drove out of the airport and looked at the map.

He clicked on the navigation and clicked on the address. The location was about four-hour drive away. Jonathan sighed and looked at the time. The time table looked about right.

"Well then…" muttered Jonathan. He opened the trunk and pulled out two chocolate bars. He opened them using his teeth and chomped them.

The car drove onto the Church.

* * *

Sniper loaded.

Side arms loaded.

Revolver loaded with sand rounds.

Two submachine guns loaded and equipped.

Jonathan looked outside the window. It was already nightfall and the guards looked tired. The security was lax.

It was almost the end of the shift, and if the next round of guards came, the mission would be finished before it even started.

Jonathan slowly opened the door on the floor of the van and lay down on the ground beneath the van. He rolled into the grassland and stabilized his breath. He was about fifty hundred meters away from the target, and there weren't too many covers he could hide behind.

On top of that—

_They are non-magicians,_ thought Jonathan. They were all holding guns and were wearing bulletproof armors. Jonathan's left hand could do absolutely nothing to them.

Jonathan sighed silently and pulled out his pistols. He pulled the cock of both pistols with his teeth and got out a black handkerchief to cover his face. He then ran towards a nearby sewer—silently but quickly—and rolled to its side. He then rolled on the sewer and while keeping a low position, lifted the manhole silently. He quickly climbed down into the sewer.

Jonathan covered his nose and held his breath. He ran towards the checkpoint with his left arm free. The sounds of his footsteps echoed through the empty tunnel as Jonathan stopped under a manhole. He then thought for a while then ran on, and on the first right, turned. He ran on with occasional stops under manholes.

About fifteen minutes later, Jonathan stopped. He looked up and around, to make sure he wasn't discovered. He then climbed up the ladder and saw outside with the holes. There was no sound of a footstep or occasional yawning by the guards.

The coast was clear.

Jonathan slowly pushed the manhole up and opened it. It jerked and made a little "creak" noise. Jonathan quickly climbed up the ladder and ran towards the main building. However, Jonathan stopped when he heard two rapid footsteps coming to his direction and jumped towards the grass. The two guards ran towards the manhole with their guns aimed in front of them, unbeknownst to the most terrifying being they have ever met who will take their lives with a couple of silent wind slashes to their necks.

As they fell, Jonathan quickly pulled off a knife from his thigh and covered one of the two's mouth as he slashed through his neck, detaching his head from his body. He then proceeded to the twitching next guard and took his helmet off to stab him in the back lobe.

Jonathan then kicked their bodies and one head to the grass and stripped the one with his head attached to the body. Jonathan found an identification card and got that too.

"It sure is a high-tech Church," muttered Jonathan as he covered his right arm with the bulletproof vessel to use as shield and smashed the radio.

After covering up the naked man with the bush, Jonathan put the suit and shirt inside his hoodie and quickly—but silently again—ran towards the front door. He found a security camera and shot it down without hesitation or missing. He then opened the Church door and found another room inside with a card hole.

Jonathan readied a flash grenade as he put the ID into the hole and threw it into the room.

With a bang, three cries were heard. Jonathan flew into the room and shot down the first two with his dual pistols and turned in midair to shoot the third one behind the door.

As he fell on the icy floor, Jonathan noticed something.

This was not a Church.

This was most likely a meeting area of the priests, but for some reason, it was now heavily guarded by armed military. It was as if the priests ran away, knowing that he would come.

In fact, it was already fishy when a Church was guarded by normal agents.

However, he had no time to think. He had to find the target and leave.

Then he realized something.

"Dammit, I know absolutely nothing about the target!" muttered Jonathan, a bit too loudly for his current situation. However, it was true. He did not read any profile of the target from the folder of the briefing in the car provided by ones who hired him.

How was he supposed to find the target without even knowing the gender of the target?

Then, Jonathan twitched. He turned around and aimed at the darkness.

Something made a moan.

It was not moaning of waking up, or a moan of a girl on a bed.

Indeed, it was a girl's moan, but it was nothing of the sort.

It was a moan of horror.

As if she was experiencing something inexplicably terrifying.

Jonathan ran towards the sound and heard something getting nullified into the air. He came closer and saw a basic figure of a nude girl.

She was at least in her twenties, and had a wonderful figure for a small girl—about a head smaller than Jonathan, who was 5'11"—and, quite unlike a girl, or any human being for that matter, had a silver hair. Her mouth and eyes were bounded, and of course her hands as well. She was, however, calmed down, unlike how her moaning sounded from a distance.

Jonathan opened his hoodie and got out the earlier suit he meant to use as distraction and put them on the floor. He then slid his hand down the girl quite hastily and stopped at her head.

Jonathan then smiled, and unlike the warm smile the priest gave the girl, or the awkward smile Jonathan gave the foreigner lady. A cold smirk, as if he was a devil satisfied of the offering of the worthless human.

"Found ya," muttered Jonathan.

He grabbed the head of the girl tightly and concentrated. His Imagine Breaker retracted to his left arm, then the upper half of the arm, then his hand.

A sound of something vanishing into the thin air rang through the hall. Jonathan wiped his sweat and stood up, but twitched and knelt again. He grabbed the girl's head again and concentrated.

Nothing happened.

He trembled a little. What was happening? Why couldn't he do it?

He could do it to the wielder of fire.

He could do it to the wielder of water.

He could do it to the wielder of weather.

He could do it to the wielder of the cross.

He could even do it to an Archangel.

However this time—

Unfortunately for Jonathan, before he could finish his thought, numerous footsteps rang from outside the opened doors. He ran towards the door and pulled out the card, then shot the machine before the door closed. The door half-closed, so Jonathan manually closed it, then put one heavy chair used for prayer in front of the door. He then ran back to the girl and pulled out a knife from his thigh. He quickly slashed through the bounds in her eye, mouth and hand and threw her the suit.

"Y—you pervert!" yelled the girl. "You touched my…my…"

"Shut the f*** up," said Jonathan.

A cold breeze sled through the girl's back. She stiffened as Jonathan put the knife back into the thigh pocket and got out a submachine gun from his back.

The girl came back to her senses and started to wear the suit. Jonathan took off his shield and threw that to her as well.

"You're coming with me," said Jonathan. "I do not accept no's, and I do not accept whining. If you make wrong calls, I shoot. You understand me?"

The girl blankly stared at the back of this killer, and nodded when Jonathan aimed his gun at her.

"Good," said Jonathan. He ran towards the man he shot in the head and took off his clothes. He put only the outermost suit and put on the new bulletproof vessel into his right hand to use it as shield again.

"You a nun here?" said Jonathan as he eyed the tattered white nun's cloth on the floor. The girl quickly zipped up the armor and shook her head with a little dejected face from his cold manner of speaking, although technically she is the one who hired him.

"I…I'm not a nun. They just put me in these clothes to protect me."

Why was she lying?

No one put the Walking Church on her. She begged the Catholic Church for protection and all they gave her was this. She thanked them numerous times and got to England on this cloth.

However, the fact that she was not a nun was true. She was too sinful to be God's servant.

"Heeh," muttered Jonathan, as he loaded the submachine gun. He looked around and found a sewer on the corner of the hall, but when he approached it, he found out that it was too small to pass through.

Jonathan clicked his tongue, and at the same time, some men kicked the wooden door, but failed to open them.

"You," said Jonathan.

"It's Index," said the girl. "Index Librorum Prohibitorum."

"I could care less about your name at the moment," said Jonathan, although he was genuinely relaxed that this girl was the actual target. "Do you know a way out?"

"I can tell you, but I don't want to—"

Jonathan aimed at her.

"There's a secret passageway behind the altar I was in that's used for the priests to go to their room."

Jonathan raised the gunpoint and ran towards Index. He grabbed her wrist and ran towards the altar, then looked around and ran towards the door. He kicked the door down although it was not locked and ran inside.

Then, as if it was one of the cliché used in movies, the wooden door opened with a loud crash.

"Find them!" yelled a man in British-English. Jonathan did not give a second look at them and ran towards the second floor. He looked out and saw one little window. He shot through the window and unblocked the window from the iron bar. He grabbed the side of Index and hugged her—although it was really putting her on his side.

Before Index could comment on his act, Jonathan jumped out and sled through the roof. He shot down the guards on the garden and jumped. He rolled in the midair and softened his fall along with Index. He immediately turned and shot the man behind him.

"Come on!"

Jonathan grabbed Index's wrist and ran towards the van. However, that was still a long run and numerous guards were ganging up on him.

"So you're the Number One, huh?" said Index, and even worse for Jonathan, in Japanese. "Not as I imagined you would look."

"What?!" yelled Jonathan, clearly agitated. However, Index managed a smile.

"How old are you?"

"Oh for f***'s sake. I'm hitting my thirties. Now, if you mind, I need to get both of us out of here without dying, if possible."

"Heeh, you're the top of the charts and you're only in your thirties? I'm twenty-four by the way."

"I don't care and I don't need to know. We're not here to socialize."

"Nice to meet you too."

"For the love of God…"

Jonathan clicked his tongue and pulled out a sniper rifle. He looked at the scope and quickly scanned around. He found a little shadow on a rooftop and lowered his sniper rifle.

"This way!" yelled Jonathan. He pulled Index and ran towards the sniper without hesitation.

"Wait! Where are you going!"

"I need backup," said Jonathan, getting slowly out of breath. "I'll find some hostages in that place and get out of here."

"But, you're going to—"

Index couldn't continue as they entered the building the priest ran off to.

* * *

"Have you brought the candles?" asked the priest.

"Right here, father."

The priest smiled warmly at Marco who called him father again. "Have you brought an iron dagger?"

"Right here."

"The pentagram?"

"Right here."

"Then let's begin."

The priest cut the girl's finger and let her bleed a little. He then took the candle wax that has already melted, and, following the pentagram as the model, began to draw the devil's sign.

Marco whizzed. Being a man who wields holy magic, he could not stand the power of the devil. And, he knew for a fact that the same was for the priest, just in higher scale. As the pentagram completed, the room was more synchronized into a demon's chamber, and the inheritor of the Holy Spirit would have been the one who was most harmed.

That said, the priest let go of the Holy Spirit so that he could perform the ritual.

After all, if he was too holy, he could not call upon a demonic spirit.

"Give me the book of spells," said the priest to the girl. Index's eye shut open, and her mouth muttered words that were out of this world. The priest covered his ears and shut his eye, and stepped a little away from Index.

However, the priest twitched.

Not Index, but the priest.

"Father?" yelled Marco. "Are you alright?"

The father struggled as he grasped his right arm. His little bit of the holy energy was sipping out of his body.

"Dammit…" muttered the priest.

Marco raised his hand with the rosary bound in it. _"Our Father, who work in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…"_

The father screamed and covered his ears.

No, he was no longer the father.

He was the Prince.

"SILENCE!" bellowed the priest—Prince. Marco was buffeted by the wind and flew away from the priest. He clutched his neck as if he was thirsty, and continued to growl.

"No you don't," muttered another voice.

The priest—the demon—cried in pain. He remembered that this was a servant of God, and he was, right now, wearing the Lord's symbol around his neck. However, he could not touch it and throw it away. Doing so would banish his soul back to the depths of hell.

"_Curse you!"_ yelled the demon.

Then, another voice reckoned, and the priest fell on his knees. He was clutching the cross as he breathed in and out heavily.

He ran out of the hall and met three guards on standby. "Get in there! Protect the girl! I will be right back inside!"

"What about the brother, father?" asked one of the guards. "Should we leave him here?"

The priest grunted and ran back inside, grabbed Marco, put him on his shoulder, and ran out of the hall.

"Cover up her eye and her mouth again!" yelled the priest. "I was mistaken."

"Why?" yelled the guard. "It worked perfectly. How did the demon consume you and not…that…"

"Sinner?" said the priest. "We are all sinners, but I know the point you are trying to make."

"Then, why is it?"

"I was a fool," said the priest, running off, remembering that he had to take off her clothes, a cloth that has all the necessary setting of a Church, the Walking Church; the toughest mobile magical barrier the Catholic Church had.

"I will exorcise the Prince and come back to restart!" yelled the priest. "You all stay here and guard this place!"

"But, what if the Destroyer comes?"

The priest grunted. "Then let him come. I will be available through the radio, so if you need to report to me, report right away."

"Yessir!" saluted the guard, who ran inside the hall and began to ready his men.

_I was a fool, _the priest thought as he ran on into the Church. _I was a fool._

_Yes, you are a fool, _said a voice from within.

The priest coughed green blood, but he kept his left hand clenching the symbol of the Son of God as he kept running towards the Church.

_You were a fool, _said the voice. _You thought you can use my power and get rid of it as easily. That was your first mistake. You are a holy man, I can see that. However, you committed an act of blasphemy, and that was enough to draw away your link with the Man above._

The priest clenched his teeth and entered the Church.

_You could have exorcized me easily in there, _said the demon. _However, thanks to your idle compassion towards the girl, you became a weak soul. You can never take me away from your body now._

The priest ignored him as he put Marco down on one of the benches and ran towards the holy water by the gate.

_Look at you, the end of your life as you know it, and where is your God? Where is your Father? Where is your savior?_

The priest breathed in and out and dipped his hand into the water, crying out in pain.

_Nowhere, _said the demon. _He has abandoned you._

Then, for the first time in this self-talk, the priest actually listened to the demon.

And, as he cried lowly in pain, the priest smiled in the darkness.

"What a fool," muttered the demon. "Letting his guard off like that."

Everything he said was a lie, and he would have been easily exorcized if the priest kept spraying holy water on his own body, but the priest did not know that. After all, he has never been an exorcist all his life.

The demon used his elbow to take off the cross—he cried in pain when the elbow touched—and wiped the holy water off using the priest's clothes. The demon turned to the fainted monk and checked his heart.

He was still alive.

The demon smiled again. Now that this guy was down, he could easily create the upper hand using this man as hostage. All he had to do was charge a magic cannon—as corny as it sounds, it was quite a spectacular attack—in his hand and put the man in front of him, letting him walk before the demon.

It was all too easy.

The demon turned around and found out that he was in a Church. He growled and crouched when he saw the Holy Crucifix, but he slowly approached the monk, took his cross off as well, and put him on his shoulder.

It was all too easy.

The demon left the Church with whizzing breath from the amount of holiness in the room, and quickly looked around. There was a small room—probably used for confession—on the side. The demon quickly ran into it and opened the door, concealing him and the monk inside.

It was all too easy.

However, there was one little fact that startled even the demon. It was just a minor detail—not—but it kept bugging the demon.

The Destroyer.

A while ago, when the priest was running away to this place, he said _let him come,_ but the demon, being in his heart itself, knew what the priest felt.

Pure terror.

It was the same with the guard who asked what he would do if the Destroyer were to appear. He said, _what do we do if the Destroyer comes_, suggesting high terror against the said Destroyer.

Even worse for the demon, and a little insultingly, the priest did not feel that way about the demon residing his body. He was quite ready and steady with his mind. However, the second the guard mentioned the Destroyer, his heart was filled with terror.

Who was this Destroyer that, even this man of holiness and an entire army, feared and considered as the more urgent matter than even the demon himself?

The demon noticed the tremor of his hand and clenched his hand to form a fist. Was he terrified of this man as well—despite the fact that he has not even met the man/woman/group and confronted him/her/them?

"Interesting," muttered the demon with a little forced smile. If he swallowed up that Destroyer's body instead, he will be able to wield an immeasurable power.

To begin with, if the holistic men were afraid of the Destroyer, then he/she/they should be awfully devilish man/woman/bunch. It would be easier than a walk in the park to take the control of his body.

"Come on, Destroyer," muttered the demon. "I'm waiting."

He later realized that he was mistaken from the core of his heart.

However, he was too late when he realized this.

* * *

Jonathan drew his submachine gun.

"Wha—why gun?"

"This is a Church," said Jonathan, as if that was supposed to mean something.

"Yeah, I know, this is a Church. Exactly my point."

"Church this size—and one that keeps you in—must have some kind of magicians in it," said Jonathan, loading the gun and checking the corners. "Don't tell me you don't know about magic at all."

Of course she knew. She was a possible candidate for becoming a Magic God.

"But you know, I can't use any magic at all right now thanks to you…" Index faltered. "That was supposed to sound more thankful. I really appreciate what you did for me."

Jonathan turned at her with a little surprised face, but then shook his head and turned back.

"What?" said Index.

"Forget it."

"Just say it."

Jonathan aimed the gun at her. Index sighed. "That's getting old."

"It works."

"Yeah, good point."

Index closed her mouth and Jonathan aimed the gun in front of him, but then grunted and turned back to face Index.

"Okay, I'll say it," said Jonathan. "First of all, why are you speaking Japanese? You don't look anything like an Asian to me."

"I'm not, but I thought you were one, since you lived in Japan for so—"

"I just stay there for protection," said Jonathan. "I really hate that place, and thanks to you even I was speaking in Japanese."

"What, am I supposed to apologize?" said Index, a little irritated. "First I try to be nice at you, and now I try to be considerate, and you expect me to apologize?"

"No, never mind," said Jonathan. "That was a little too pushy on my part."

Index twitched.

What did this man just do?

Did he just apologize?

"Did you just apologize?" asked Index.

"Do you want me to bake you a cake and kneel in front of you to believe that something is an apology?" Jonathan coldly spat at her despite the context of the word.

Index covered her mouth, but a little chuckle rang through the Church.

"What," said Jonathan, irritated again.

"What'cha call it…are you that? That thing that's famous in Japan…tsun-something?"

Jonathan narrowed his left eye to try to guess what she was trying to say. "Tsun? Tsunade? I'm a male, in case you haven't noticed."

"No, it's not a name, it's…what'cha call it…"

"Tsun? Tsun what?"

"Never mind, I'll figure it out," said Index with a weird smirk. Jonathan got a little eerie with that smirk, but he turned around and tried his best to ignore it.

Fortunately for him, he didn't have to try long.

"Hide behind me," ordered Jonathan. "Get the other rifle out of my back and protect yourself. If you shoot me, I'll shoot you."

Index gulped. "What is it?"

"I don't know, but something with a bulky magical source is in that confession room."

"Hey, I just noticed that you're still speaking Japanese," said Index.

"You're not getting a gun."

"Ah, come on!" said Index, and unfortunately, a little loudly.

Jonathan's eyes widened as the door opened. He immediately shot through the door, but the man did not even stumble as the bullets all bounced off his skin.

"That's a talent I've got to learn," muttered Jonathan. He put his rifle in his back and pulled off his revolver.

"Which among you two is the Destroyer?" said a dark voice, in Japanese as well. Index twitched, as she realized the owner of the voice, although it has been altered.

"You never will have to know," said Jonathan, as he pulled down the release and locked the revolver. He aimed at the door. He didn't have to aim properly—if the bullet approached the target enough, it would do its job.

Jonathan's finger slowly grasped the trigger, when—

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Jonathan twitched and fired on the wrong side. The voice bellowed as the door smashed down and the priest jumped at Jonathan.

However, before he completely got to the Destroyer, he paused and jumped backwards. He simply stared at his hand as Jonathan stood without any emotions in his eyes.

"You are not a normal magician," said the demon.

Even for the emotionless being Jonathan was, he had to smirk at that. "You have no idea, do you."

The demon smirked as well. "I guess you do not have the vaguest idea as well."

"I don't need to know," said Jonathan. "I just need to shoot you in the head and get over with it."

The demon smiled wider. "You think you have what it takes to kill me?"

"Well, we can find out," Jonathan said as he pulled down the lock again and aimed at the head of the target.

"Wait, Jonathan!"

Jonathan's eyes widened. He pulled another sidearm from his side and aimed at Index without even looking at her or taking his eyes off the demon.

"What did you just say?"

"This man is just possessed!" yelled Index, not minding Jonathan's question at all. "If you shoot him, he'll die as well along with the—"

"What did you just call me?"

"I called you Jonathan! I hired you! Enough question, just do as I say!"

Jonathan's left hand twitched—the one that held the revolver. While still keeping his eyes on the demon, Jonathan asked, "You really are the one who hired me?"

"Yes! I sold everything I gained from using my power the wrong way and paid you! There is two million euro in this one!"

Jonathan's eyes widened, as he quickly put the pistol back to his side. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"I've been trying to tell you! You always threatened me with gun before I said something more!"

Jonathan twitched.

She was right.

"Damn." Jonathan put the revolver back to his side and turned to Index. "So what do I do?"

"Is there a way to exorcise the demon besides using your bullet?"

"Yep."

The demon twitched. What were they talking about?

He could leave the priest's body and possess this hoodie's instead. Then he can shoot the girl and then the priest, then get out and demonstrate his power.

However…

"What are you?" said the demon. Jonathan ignored him and concentrated his Imagine Breaker on his left arm.

The demon roared and jumped on Jonathan. Jonathan's eyes widened as he crouched and grabbed the wrist of the priest, doing a backflip. The demon, however, landed on his feet and attacked Jonathan with his fangs.

Jonathan grabbed the throat of the priest with his right hand and clenched hard. The demon, being a powerful being he is, struggled to get out of the bound, but Jonathan immediately grabbed the priest's head and looked at the demon directly in the eye.

And, as soon as he did that,

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The demon tried to get Jonathan's left hand off his head, but as soon as he touched the wrist, he hissed and roared louder as his hand started to spit mist.

"Normally, I'd just crack your neck and get over with it, but that nun's being annoying, so I'll do you a little favor, old man," said Jonathan with a dead eye.

The demon struggled. This man was already as corrupt as he could ever be. All he needed to do was take the left hand off his head and possess his soul.

However, he simply couldn't.

He was incapable of the very reason of his existence.

It was as if his being was slowly getting obliterated into nothing.

It was not the same as being sealed on the prison of fire.

It was not the same as being diminished into lower being.

It was getting nullified.

As if he did not ever exist in this world, robbed of even the signs of his existence.

"I've read about you before," said Jonathan. "You're the dude that decided that he was stronger than God, no?"

The demon clenched his teeth and tried his best to touch Jonathan's left arm.

"That reaction means I was right on spot," said Jonathan. "Well, I'll let you off with a little secret."

He put the demon on the ground and approached his face with his.

"I already killed him."

The demon's face froze. He tried to move, but he couldn't.

The Father was dead.

It did not occur to him that this man was lying.

He was all alone in this world.

He was robbed of his Father.

He was all alone.

He was all alone.

He was all alone.

Jonathan did not speak on as he clenched the priest's head. A sound of gust of wind passing through a small hole echoed in the entire Church.

The priest blinked. Jonathan raised his left brow and turned around, when—"

Slap.

Jonathan was in awe.

Not in a good awe, of course. The girl that he just saved slapped him in the face.

"You are a blasphemy," said Index. "You are the damnation to humanity."

Jonathan was silent as he put his hand on his left cheek to examine the hit. It did not hurt one bit. He was fine.

This girl was weak.

Jonathan turned to the girl, with his face changed again. Index twitched and moved backwards, but Jonathan grabbed her by the collar and drew her face very close to his. Although the situation was a bit awkward, Index did not blush. Her hands froze as Jonathan's widened eyes pierced into Index's green eyes, her breath slowed as Jonathan's hand tightly grabbed her and did not move an inch, and her eyes shook as Jonathan's mouth contained nothing but pure anger.

However, Jonathan breathed in and let go of Index.

"Excuse me," said Jonathan, who nodded as an apology. "I don't exactly have a therapist, so I do that now and then. Please never, ever, ever, ever touch me again without telling me first, much less slap me."

Index's voice shook, but she still asked him, "Why, are you dishonored or something?"

"I was ordered to bring you back alive," said Jonathan, "but if you touch me, I won't be able to accomplish that mission, much less if you slap me."

Index's hands shook as Jonathan put the revolver back into his pocket and kicked the priest aside. He checked his pulse and stood up. He got out a cellphone and dialed some numbers.

"The girl is safe, and the mission is completed. No hostiles inbound. Requesting sup—"

"HOW DARE YOU!" yelled a voice.

Jonathan twitched and turned around, pulling out his pistol out in a blink of an eye and aiming at the source of the voice. Jonathan could not really tell from the darkness, but he did not have to know.

Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

"NO!" yelled Index.

However, the monk dodged the bullet and prayed rapidly. Jonathan twitched and pulled out his other pistol.

But he was too late.

The ground erected between him and Index, and Jonathan jumped backwards since his presence could interfere with the spell and half-stop the magic, therefore causing more ruckuses. Still, he was practically in a ruckus, and he had to get the girl.

Jonathan quickly checked the phone, but it was swallowed up in the erection and the phone was broken.

He had no time to waste.

He had to move now.

He pulled out a grenade without any speck of emotion and pulled out his knife. He cut his left hand, and, with the bleeding hand, clenched the grenade, pulled out the pin and threw it to the wall. He then grabbed the priest's collar and threw him, sliding him across the Church floor. Jonathan himself jumped away from the grenade and rolled.

With a loud noise, the wall was destroyed.

Jonathan got out his sniper rifle. The two were already far away, but to Jonathan's luck, they were still in vision.

However, before he could pull the trigger, the two turned right and exited the building.

Jonathan clicked his tongue and ran towards them. The priest muttered something, but Jonathan did not concern himself too much. Jonathan found a window and opened it up. A rain of fire crashed the other half of the window and slit Jonathan's left side. However, he amazingly calmed down and aimed down at the two. He aimed right at the priest's head and opened fire.

It was a clear hit.

The man jerked and fell.

Jonathan then turned at the men above the priests' house and shot down three more agents. He then rolled to the side and hid from the rain of bullets and got out the submachine gun and opened fire at the garden. Several agents fell.

Jonathan ran towards the fallen girl and grabbed her. The men tried to come after him, but Jonathan yelled, "Stay where you are or I'll shoot this girl too!"

All of them stopped.

Jonathan did not care if she was a part of them, or if the hostage situation even worked. Whenever someone said that to another, that another always paused for a second before re-evaluating the situation if the hostage was appropriate or not.

Of course, unless _another_ was someone like Jonathan.

However, he doubted that any of the enemies was as cold as he was, and all he needed was that one second.

Jonathan covered his eye and threw a flash grenade to the sky. Without looking, he ran towards the nearest sewer.

And, before the company could react, the bomb went off with a 'bang'.

The company all opened fire with their eyes blinded, but they had no idea if they would hit or not. It could luckily hit them, but it was a narrow chance.

And, when they could finally see again, the garden was empty.


	4. Chapter 3

It was probably Jonathan Smith.

That was the name of the man who saved him.

He didn't remember how he did, but that was how he saved this unfortunate child.

But, he could not remember anything after that. Either way, the unfortunate child decided to call himself Jonathan henceforth, and save numerous people like Jonathan Smith did.

Save?

What a joke.

He could not even save himself.

He lived to kill.

And he wanted to save people?

What a bad joke.

Something in Jonathan's heart twitched. Something that died long ago, and was injured numerous times. Something that was stabbed numerous times.

Something human.

_It's too late for that._

One is never too late to do anything.

_I've killed too much._

You can always use your connections to get a clean slate.

_They will always hunt me down._

Then from now on you can fight to protect yourself.

_Then it will be another cycle of preying and hunting._

You don't have to kill anymore.

_You don't understand anything. You are not me._

What are you talking about?

I am you.

* * *

"Oi."

Jonathan opened his eye. His vision was still a little hazy, but a girl with silver hair came to his sight. She was all bloody and her clothes were all ripped apart, but it looked like the ripping was done intentionally. She must have used the sleeves and a little of her pants to stop his bleeding.

"Am I dead?" said Jonathan, strangely in Japanese again.

"If you were dead, you will be in depths of hell," said the girl, also in Japanese.

"Don't be ridiculous. There's no such thing as hell or heaven."

Index sighed. "Freedom of beliefs, fine. Can you stand?"

"I don't know yet."

Jonathan tried to stand up, but his legs jerked and he fell down on the floor again.

"No."

"I would have never guessed."

Index slowly stood up, taking a deep breath and trying to keep strength on her legs, and offered her hand. "You need help?"

Jonathan stared at the hand and slowly raised his to grab the girl' hand. "Sure, you're a life-saver."

"I try my best."

Index pulled Jonathan up with a groan, and Jonathan stood up. However, he staggered and slipped again. Index quickly hugged him and restored his balance. Jonathan grabbed Index's shoulder and stood up. Their face was a little close, but Jonathan didn't even twitch his eyes. Index, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable and blushed a little.

"What happened?" asked Jonathan, ignoring Index's flushed face. Index pouted a little for this guy's insensitivity, but started talking.

"You killed the monk—"Index breathed in and out, then continued, "—and threw a flash grenade. Afterwards, you got shot in the leg from trying to protect me and you single-handedly opened up a manhole. We both fell, but at the last minute, you fell first and cushioned my fall. Your head and all the critical organs were fine, but your back was practically opened and…it was a disgusting sight."

"Oh, and I regenerated, huh."

Index twitched. "Yeah, I meant to ask you about that." Index glanced at Jonathan's left arm—which did not have a single scar from the rain of gunfire—and looked back at Jonathan. "What exactly is your left—no, what are you?"

Jonathan twitched. He looked up and silenced his breath.

"Before that," Jonathan said with a little haste, "it's probably too late to ask now, but how long was I out?"

"About five minutes, max."

Five minutes?

That was way too long.

Why weren't the guards coming after them?

"To begin with, where are we?" asked Jonathan. "I know you're curious and all that, but I'd like to prioritize our life over my client's satisfaction."

"I wouldn't be satisfied if I were to die, so sure."

Even Jonathan had to smirk a little to that. He slowly approached the ladder and leaned on the dirty wall, and looked up to find blood stain on the manhole. If he fell into the pit after being shot in the leg, he must have left some mark.

There wasn't.

Jonathan twitched and slowly turned his face down and looked at Index.

"Wait, did you move us?"

"Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you," said Index, "but I used the sewer's water current to take us to wherever the water flowed to. The above is probably civilian world. We're safe."

Jonathan twitched again. For the first time in his life, he wanted to punch a girl.

No, actually, this would not be the first time. He had numerous female targets before, and not all of them were pleasant like some better targets he didn't kill.

"You really have to work on what you first say to the guy who was unconscious for five minutes."

"I'll work on it," said Index, with a huge grin.

Jonathan slowly got his hands off Index and slowly turned around. Index looked at him with worried eyes as he staggered from time to time, but Jonathan's eyes were soulless, as if he detached the _pain_ segment of his brain from the rest of his brain.

"I stink."

That was the first thing the man who was shot in the leg and was barely walking said.

"So do I." Index decided to play along.

"I want to have a bath."

"Me too."

"I want to get back."

"So do I."

Jonathan closed his eyes and tried to remember where this was. However, even the Number One assassin of the whole world could not memorize every sewer network, not to mention the fact that he was unconscious for a while.

"Where are we?" said Jonathan.

"We flowed down from a far away. Two left turns, one right, then straight down for another six intersections, two consecutive rights, one left, and now we're here."

Jonathan slowly turned to look at Index with puzzled expression. Index stared at him blankly for quite a while, then blinked when she realized what the expression was asking.

"Oh, right, I haven't told you yet, but I have a perfect memorization and perfect documentation of memories. If I choose to remember something, I never forget it, and can't forget it either."

"And like I said, you really need to prioritize what you say first."

Index grumbled. "I'll give you that this is partly my fault, but don't you read any profiling about your targets before you kill…" Index cleared her throat, _"destroy_ them?"

"I do," said Jonathan, "but there was not a single word about who you were."

Index twitched and folded her arms. "…That explains a lot."

"Yes, it does. Now, where are we again?"

"Like I said, we're probably under the civilian world."

"I'm all bloody, your clothes are all ripped apart, and I have five deadly weapons. If I were to find myself climbing up a sewer, I would be reported to the nearest police station."

"It's still middle of the night," said Index. "Most likely nobody's around."

"There are always people around," said Jonathan, "and if they see me, I'll have to behead them again—"Jonathan bit his lips.

Index staggered. She almost lost her balance and fell on her knees, but she found strength again and kept her balance.

"What did you just say?"

"I'll explain everything once we get out of here," said Jonathan. "Seriously, I need to get out of here. It's a matter of time before they seal all sewers."

"You beheaded people who saw you?"

"I beheaded people who tried to rob me."

"Robbing and killing are two different extremes of crimes!"

"I really have no time for this," said Jonathan with a little irritated expression, as he turned his head to look at Index's eyes. "I said I'll explain everything once I get out of here. Isn't that good enough?"

Index's hands trembled. She wanted to slap him again, but she tried to control herself. Even if this man was a disgusting killer, he was her savior, and not to mention a professional. She knew she had to follow his guide at this time and place.

But she did not want to.

"Fine," said Index, clenching her hands. "But you better give a long and good explanation on all these once we're out."

Jonathan nodded and dragged his legs towards the ladder. He clenched the ladder tightly and, using only his shoulder and arm power, lifted himself up. He had his legs dangling around, dripping blood on the bottom of the ladder.

There was still bullet in his right thigh and his left lower leg, but Jonathan clenched his teeth and held on to the pain. Index trembled as blood dripped on her head, but she grabbed the ladder as well and started climbing it up. Occasionally, some blood dripped on her face, but she tried her best to not mind too much.

Before long, Jonathan was at the top.

"Wait," said Jonathan to Index. She paused and looked up, and unfortunately, a blood dripped on her eye. With a fumed expression, she watched as Jonathan looked at the manhole with passionate expression (really it was a troubled expression), The manhole was something he had to use all his body to open, but right now, he could only use his two arms. On top of that, whatever he did, the manhole always made a loud noise when he climbed out.

"No time to think…" muttered Jonathan. He was right. If he held on to the ladder for too long, he would lose his vigor and fall on Index's head.

Jonathan huffed in and out and strengthened his left arm. He quickly punched the manhole using his right arm and lifted it up. However, his left hand felt too heavy—he could have fallen any time. Normally, he would just let go and grab the lower ladder with his right, but right now, there was an escort he needed to save behind him.

So, Jonathan quickly switched his left hand with right, grabbing the manhole with his left arm and holding the ladder with his right.

Jonathan felt his muscles crying out, but he had to hold on. Index was right below him, and if he failed here, he would die along with her.

Jonathan sipped in air again and jerked himself up, rotating himself about the ladder bar he was holding on to and landing back-first to the outside world.

However, the manhole cover fell with a loud crash and the sound rang through the dark night.

"Who's there!" yelled someone from a little distance. It was British-English.

"Goddamn rotten luck," said Jonathan, who quickly approached the manhole again and extended his arm down, grabbing Index's hand. He pulled her up and grabbed her by her shoulder, then her bottom and finally pulled her all the way up.

"I would report you to them if our situation weren't this dire," said Index, blushing and rubbing her butt.

However, Jonathan didn't respond. He lay without movement on the ground.

Index's flushed face slowly lost the color. Index approached Jonathan and checked his pulse.

"I'm alive, for the love of God," said Jonathan.

Index sighed, a little too loudly, in fact. She smiled and stood up. "Now then, let's get out of here. You have a backup or something, right?"

"I changed my mind."

Index paused from trying to run and looked at Jonathan. "What do you mean? You want to ditch me or something?"

"I didn't realize that the stars of England were this nice," said Jonathan with cold eyes that didn't suggest a pinch of sentiment. "I want to watch these guys. I'm ditching you."

Index couldn't understand.

"I don't understand. You want to watch the stars?"

"You go," said Jonathan. "I'm ditching you and stargazing today."

Index's expression froze.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm out of juice," said Jonathan. "I can't lift a finger. I lost too much blood and used too much strength."

Silence fell.

"You do realize that if they catch you, you'll die, right?"

"Hell yeah."

"You do realize that this means I don't get to pay you, right?"

"Obviously. I don't even exist in any records so I can't ask you to bring that money to my tombstone."

"Are you for real?"

"Look, for f***'s sake, the guards will be here in about a minute. That's enough time to get away from here, but carrying me, you'll be caught. If you walk on following the road, you'll come across a black van. The key's in there, so you just have to start it and drive away. Take the revolver on my side. It still has five rounds left, so use them well."

Index could not believe what this man was saying.

"Are you…sacrificing yourself for my life?"

"I'm trying to at least get one of us out of here," said Jonathan. "I don't need sentiments. I'm not doing this to look nice. Seriously, we only have about forty seconds left. Get the hell out of here."

"But, I—"

"Stop annoying me and get the f*** out of my sight!" yelled Jonathan. Index jerked, and after staring at Jonathan for another five seconds, she ran to him and pulled out his revolver. She turned and ran away from him without turning back even once.

Jonathan smirked weakly and closed his eyes. After another few seconds, the bushes beside him shook.

"Here they are," muttered Jonathan. He pulled out a pistol and aimed at the bush. No movements were seen or heard. Jonathan silenced his breath and aimed at the bush.

And then, the bush moved again.

Jonathan pulled the trigger. Following a yell of an unfortunate man, a rain of bullets started to overwhelm Jonathan. Jonathan rolled to the side and took a bullet on his right arm.

Now even his right arm was disabled.

"Open fire!" yelled a man behind the bush. Jonathan clenched his jaws and rolled again to face the ground and fired at the men using his left arm.

Few more cries were heard, but the rain of bullets did not decrease. In fact, they started to become more accurate every time Jonathan fired. A bullet passed Jonathan's left ear and cut it. However, having lost almost all of his vigor, Jonathan did not even twitch. He just kept firing at the bush

Ironically, his nature of firing arms was more deeply seated into Jonathan's brain than his nature of reacting to the pain.

Jonathan twitched. A bullet hit his left shoulder.

Now he was done for.

Now he was actually going to die.

No gimmicks, no tricks this time around.

He was going to die, and no nun was here to prolong his life.

Jonathan closed his life. He couldn't squeeze the trigger of the gun as he heard the men yell at each other, saying that the target was hit or out of bullet or something. Jonathan could only smirk. He was indeed hit, but they would be very sad if they were to find a dead body. They would have loved to cook him up and eat him for tomorrow's breakfast.

Maybe he could at least give them a stomachache by crunching the capsule in his molar.

Jonathan swirled his teeth and held the poison between his teeth. He silenced his breathing and listened to the men. They slowly started to stop firing. The moment the fire stops, Jonathan could crunch the capsule and run away. Run away forever, not just from these guards but also from those fat-asses.

And a loud honk was heard.

Jonathan twitched and opened his jaws. The capsule fell out of his mouth, and the guards started to fire again, but this time, the rain of bullets had a different target. A black van rushed down hills to where Jonathan was gurgling with his blood. Jonathan rolled to the side to avoid being crushed to death.

The back door of the van opened. There, hiding behind the door, was a silver-haired girl.

"You still owe me a backstory!" yelled Index. "Get your ass back here!"

Jonathan was at first in loss of words, but he was a pro—he knew better than to let an opportunity like this slip by. Without having any dramatic pause the movies and anime had, Jonathan started to crawl right away and grabbed the door. He pulled himself in along with Index's help and lay on the floor.

After closing the door, Index quickly jumped to the front of the van. She changed gears quite spectacularly and drove out of the downhill.

"Hold on!" yelled Index.

The car screeched on the road and started to drive towards the airport—how she knew all these was outside Jonathan's knowledge, but it was probably the navigation. Jonathan continuously coughed blood and tried to block the blood loss in his left shoulder. Thankfully or not, his right shoulder already healed, and the bullet passed right through, so he could move without damaging any nerves.

However, his consciousness was slipping away.

He felt distant from the car.

"Just hold on!" yelled Index. "We'll be there shortly!"

Don't lie.

The airport is at least twenty minutes away.

Even with this speed, it'll take more than twenty-five minutes.

Jonathan tried to keep pressure on the shoulder wound, but his consciousness continued to slip away.

From a distance, Index yelled, _you'll be alright!_

Yeah, right.

I'm shot in three different places, but yeah sure, I'll be alright.

I lost a heck of a lot of blood from being your mattress, but yeah sure, I'll be alright.

Jonathan's eyes began to flip occasionally.

His heart began to slow down.

_This time_ around, he was going to die for real.

_This_ was how he was going to die.

_This_ time, no gimmicks, no tricks.

_This_ was, in fact, an appropriate way to die for Jonathan.

He was bleeding to death because he had a hole in his left shoulder.

He was going to die because of his left arm.

Jonathan could not ask for any more appropriate way of dying.

After all, his left arm was not a protection but a curse.

It was thanks to that curse that he was dying.

In the end, that was all his left arm did to him.

It killed him.

It was stopping his heart.

It was driving him away from the physical world.

It was nullifying him.

_How appropriate, _Jonathan thought.

No, he could no longer think.

His head was in a blur.

Any moment now, he could be of another world.

Jonathan did not feel cheated. He did not lament on himself.

He did not feel sad, angry, tired, upset, submitted, rejected.

He was strangely at peace.

Knowing that this was _actually _it—knowing that he did not have to follow the fat-asses anymore, nor did he have to cut people's head, or stab their heart, or shoot them between their eyes.

Jonathan could no longer think of anything.

His consciousness was slipping away.

He learned from one of his friends that he had to concentrate on what held him dearest to the world, but Jonathan could not care less.

He just wanted to die.

Unfortunately for him, he was the main character of this disgusting tale.

* * *

Jonathan blinked.

The first word that came to his head was _goddammit._

Still, Jonathan calmed down and looked around. Then, he realized that he was in the worst place an assassin could be in.

A white room, some kind of medicine on a long, iron bar, his dear, blood-stained hoodie on a cloth hanger. Occasional sounds of people moaning and some busy people walking around.

He was in a hospital.

He was in a hospital_._

HE WAS IN A HOSPITAL.

"Oh shit," muttered Jonathan. He quickly scanned the room again. Thankfully, there was nobody in there.

But, another question came to Jonathan's head.

Where was Index?

Jonathan pulled off the injection from his arm and stood up. However, because he had been resting for a while, he staggered and tumbled. His consciousness was slipping away again.

Jonathan shook his head and tried to concentrate. He slowly walked towards his hoodie and grabbed it with trouble.

He searched his pocket, but there was nothing. No guns, no knife, no bombs.

He was weaponless in a hospital, possibly the most civilian place in the city, with injuries that made him slip away now and then.

And to make things even worse—

Creak.

The door slowly opened. Jonathan gasped and silenced his breath. He jumped to the side and hid behind a corner.

One step.

Two step.

Three step.

Jonathan jumped out and grabbed the man's hand. He snatched the doctor's pen and pointed it right under his neck.

The doctor gulped, but didn't do anything.

"Do you know who I am?"

The doctor didn't say anything. Jonathan dug the pen dipper into his neck, but he still didn't move a muscle.

Jonathan twitched.

What was with this person?

Jonathan retracted his pen and looked at the doctor's face. His eyes were still misty, but Jonathan could see the silhouette of a middle-aged man with medium-sized body, glasses and strangely frog-resembling face.

"Who are you?" asked Jonathan.

"Who am I? Who are _you?_ What are you doing here with my pen?"

Jonathan thought for a while. There was no way that a doctor didn't know—and on top, someone who entered his hospital room—who the patient was.

Then, there was just one answer for this doctor's being oblivious to Jonathan's identity.

"You are used to this situation," muttered Jonathan.

"What?"

"Nothing." Jonathan staggered and took off his hospital gown and put on his blood-stained clothes.

"You want to leave?" asked the doctor. "Take off that bad excuse of a cloth and just get this." The doctor opened up his gown and took out a new navy-blue hoodie that even its tags weren't removed.

"I…yeah, thanks."

The doctor smiled. He threw the hoodie on the bed and turned around.

"I'll be right back, so you better still be here. And you better not take your weapons that are under the mattress either. You better be still here after ten minutes."

"Excuse me," said Jonathan. "Are you Heaven Canceller?"

The middle-aged man smiled and walked out of the room.

* * *

"Hi."

Jonathan didn't say a word.

Index smiled in a crooked way and patted her side. Jonathan glanced at it and realized that she still had his gun.

"You want this back, right?" said Index. "Come with me."

Jonathan simply stared at her and sighed. "No, you follow me."

Index pouted and sighed as well. "I guess you know this place better than I do."

Jonathan looked around. He twitched and grabbed Index's shoulder and pulled her to his side. Index twitched but was too tired of being embarrassed. She looked at Jonathan's expression and looked down on her feet.

There were tails on them.

Jonathan expected as much. They were probably the escorts of some sort of Index. However, this means that if he goes to his usual hideout, he'll be an easier target in case he was targeted.

"Listen to me," said Jonathan in a low voice. "I'll take you to a convenience store. There are five escorts and two police, so you should be fine."

"How the hell can you tell?"

"Footsteps," said Jonathan. "The weights of the two of the seven are heavier and more casual. The rest are light-stepped and stopping occasionally."

A sweat slid through Index's face, as she tried her best to stay smiling. This was the sense of the Number One assassin of the world. On top of that, Index was Jonathan's latest target.

She could have died few thousand times yesterday.

Oblivious of this, Jonathan looked around and walked towards the nearest convenience store. Jonathan touched Index's butt and turned around. Index jolted and turned around, but knew that there were fourteen eyes on her, so just clenched her jaws and fists.

But, when Index turned to enter the convenience store, she realized that her side pocket felt empty.

She smiled crookedly and trembled. "That son of a…"

* * *

Jonathan pressed one, then one, then nine and held on to nine for three seconds. He let go and listened to the sound of silence.

After a click, the voice spoke. "Hello, Destroyer-san."

"Don't _hello Destroyer-san _me, you bastard," muttered Jonathan. "You didn't tell me anything about saving the girl and bringing her back, or did you say that the one who hired me was the girl—"

"That part actually I said. I said that she's the one who requested the—"

"You didn't tell me that she was paying me, you cock."

The voice smirked. Jonathan breathed in to keep himself from yelling, and continued. "You didn't put a single profile about who the girl was, you didn't tell me that the guards knew that I was coming, and you didn't even tell me that the guards were mostly normal people without magical abilities."

"That part, we did not either," said the voice, almost apologetically—but there was a little amuse in his tone—as he actually apologized. "Anyhow, we are sorry for getting you into trouble."

"Yeah, sure, you're sorry. I believe you."

"We really are."

"Cut the bullshit," said Jonathan. "So, when is the ambassador picking her up?"

"Well, about that…" the voice faltered, and changed the subject. "To begin with, is she now a normal girl?"

"Yeah."

"Well done, Number One," said the voice. "As expected of you, I should say. We will deposit the money into your account by tomorrow. For the time being, a job well done. You may rest—"

"I din'do it."

Silence fell.

"I believe I have misheard you. Could you please repeat your sentence?"

Jonathan didn't want to believe his own words either. Indeed, he erased her magical ability and turned her into an ordinary girl. However, when Jonathan approached her, he could still feel the magical presence on her head.

Jonathan breathed out and continued. "I din'delete it. Rather, I couldn't."

Silence fell again.

The voice cleared his throat and spoke. "…The money will nonetheless be sent to your account, since you have retrieved the Grimores. A job well done, Destroyer-sa—"

"Don't screw with me."

The voice just said something that ticked Jonathan off.

He said Grimores.

He did know about the girl's identity.

He even anticipated that this would happen.

"If you screw any more of my head, I'll screw my bullet into your such important brain."

Of course, Jonathan was talking about sand rounds, and he knew that he didn't have enough resources to kill him.

However, the threat worked.

"I expected this to happen," said the voice with a clear smirk.

"You expected it, huh," said Jonathan with his jaws clenched. "That's amazing. You were able to predict something I was wary of."

"The Grimores are no longer in the form of a magical scripture," said the voice. "They have been converted into a form of memory-based documentation. Therefore it is just pure document—no speck of magic. It is just a written data."

Jonathan somehow understood everything the voice said. "Data that can do a lot of dangerous things?"

"Ahaha, you sure have a dry sense of humor. Yes, indeed, the data can be a threat to mankind's existence as a whole, but with no way to tap into it, it cannot be used. The only way to read the Grimores is by the Library's manual reciting, but that is simply impossible."

Why was it impossible?

However, Jonathan didn't ask and cleared his throat. "Can't she use it for herself?"

"_If_ she were a magician, yes," said the voice, "but she isn't, or is she?"

Jonathan grunted. He had a point. He did destroy her magic circuit. She was a normal human being.

Jonathan turned and looked at his van that he just got here. It was probably the voice's anticipation of the situation. It probably had clean clothes and more supplies in it, and no more girls in it. "Fine, I'm going away for a vacation," said Jonathan, turning back to the payphone and talking to it. "Get me a ticket out of this island."

"I don't know what you don't like about Japan," said the voice.

"I don't like how I always get this feeling that I'm being watched," said Jonathan with a sneer. The voice smirked yet again and continued.

"Very well, Destroyer-san. However, we still have one more job for you. A _lifelong job,_ in fact."

Jonathan twitched and listened.

"We want to keep the girl."

Jonathan twitched even more.

"You can do whatever you wish to do with her. You can dispose of her if you truly wished. You can carry her around or sell her in black market. Just make sure she doesn't remember anything when it comes to selling her though.

What was this bastard saying?

"That's interesting. You want me to wash your hands, huh?"

"Pretty much, yes."

He didn't even deny it.

There was something here.

He was not just trying to get rid of Index.

There was something deeper.

He wanted Index to die in _his_ hands.

Why.

That was the question.

And Jonathan was not trying to quote Shakespeare.

He wanted Index to die.

_Let me test this bastard._

"Fine then," Jonathan said with an evil smile. "Prepare two tickets to England. I'm going away."

The voice twitched so loudly that even Jonathan could hear it. "…What's your purpose of going to England?"

"I'll dispose of her in England. Come on, give me two tickets."

The voice fell silent.

_Bingo, _Jonathan thought.

England was the safest place on Earth next to Japan and Antarctica for magicians. If Index was sent to England, there was no way Jonathan was going to live, and there was no way Index was going to die.

And, this bastard did not want that to happen.

There was no way he was being sentimental to Jonathan. If that was so, there is only one other reason.

The voice did not want Index to live.

This little girl was something much more than someone with perfect memorization and numerous Grimores that could destroy the world as he knew it.

She had to die. Jonathan didn't know why, but the voice wanted her dead.

Next question was quite complicated. It wasn't on why the voice wanted Index dead. It was on why Jonathan had to do it. He could have killed her over thousand times yesterday, but the request was that—

Jonathan twitched.

No.

It did not have anything to do with the request.

That was the order of British Government.

That explained why the voice didn't tell Jonathan to not kill her. He wanted Jonathan to kill her.

That was it.

But even so, why did _he_ have to do it?

It didn't make sense.

If the voice wanted Jonathan to dispose of her by killing her, then it was quite easy—he just had to hire Jonathan.

However, why didn't he?

Amongst Jonathan's brain works, the voice sighed. "Fine. Please keep the girl with you, and preferably, without harming her."

Now what was this dick saying?

One moment he was ready to erase her, and now he wanted Jonathan to keep her safe?

What was with this idiot?

Jonathan hung up without saying or listening to another word. He was too confused, and he didn't want the voice to, strangely enough, change his mind. He wanted the voice to decide on not killing her.

But why?

Jonathan shook his head. It wasn't time for that. Now he had to drive back to the convenience store and pick his package up. He turned around and walked out of the payphone, and grabbed the door of the black van.

And there was the girl.

Jonathan's eyes were hazy some moments ago so he couldn't really see her clothes, but now he could clearly see that she was wearing a sky-blue-colored hoodie and white jeans. It was a little curvy on places, and if Jonathan was not conscious enough, he would have jumped on her and f*** her up real good.

Jonathan inhaled and closed the door behind him. He crawled to the driver's seat and started the engine.

When the van started to move, Index twitched and woke up. She slowly stood up and found Jonathan.

"Ah…"

She saw Jonathan.

"Hello. Where are we again?"

"Japan."

"Hee…"

"Archipelago under East Asia."

"I know." She crawled her way to the driver's seat and brought her face closer to Jonathan. He twitched and pushed her away gently.

"Well, can you show me around? I've never been in anywhere in Asia before."

"If you are willing to shoot people down, sure. You do realize that Japan is the second-most safest place on Earth for magicians next to Antarctica, right? There are a number of magicians here and you are going to die if you show them your face."

"Geh," muttered Index. "Fine then. It can't be helped." She jumped backwards and landed on Jonathan's bed.

"Well, what can I say? It's not a bad place for an old geezer's room!"

Jonathan sighed. "不幸だ…"


	5. Chapter 4

"I am very much surprised," said a male's voice—a voice not quite like man, in fact, but definitely not like a woman. "I knew that you were the best assassin in the world, but I didn't expect you to be this passionate to kill."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Jonathan. "I just called to ask you something."

"Ask away. I will tell you anything within my knowledge."

"I want you to check the background of a certain girl. Her name is unknown, but her magical affiliation is the Anglican Church, and her magic name is Index Librorum Prohibitorum."

Silence fell.

"Hello?"

"Oh, yes, the Prohibited Library," said Aleister. "Is she in your care?"

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. Although Jonathan never met the guy face-to-face, he thought this man was someone who will speak calmly to the Supreme Being, but right now, his voice was trembling as if he heard the name of his most feared opponent.

It was definitely not Jonathan.

He was not afraid of Jonathan.

Then…

"…Yes, I own her now," said Jonathan. "I was told to do as I please with her, but I sensed some ulterior motives so I backed out and decided to keep her safe. Well, at least for now."

Another long silence fell.

Jonathan coughed. "So, do you know any of her affiliations beside the Anglican and Roman Catholi—"

A click rang from Jonathan's ear.

Jonathan stared at the payphone for a while, and slowly put the phone back on the booth.

* * *

"Okay, I'm officially curious," said Index. "What the hell are you doing?"

Jonathan looked up from his note with an irritated expression. "I'm recording this deletion. I record all my deletions. You're not an exception, and neither is that priest."

"Technically, you shot him."

"I did," said Jonathan. "I deleted his existence."

Index gulped out of disgust and raised her hand. "Don't ever…say that again."

"It's the truth," said Jonathan. "Now, when I'm done, I was planning to tell you about my right hand. Are you still interested?"

"Of course."

"Okay," said Jonathan. "Then you have to help me out a little, since I also killed that monk and I have no idea what his name is or how his face looks like."

Index frowned, but in short while, came closer to Jonathan. "Fine, first tell me what you record."

"Well, to be truthful, my laptop does most of the job. I just look up for dead people in the news, find out their names, and write their names down. Technology sure is convenient."

"Seriously, what the f*** is wrong with you?"

"Shut up and listen," said Jonathan. "You had it easy, you conceited little girl, but not all of us are as lucky as you are."

Index twitched and bit her lip at that. Jonathan didn't have much strength in his voice and spoke very leisurely, but his words pierced through Index's heart. She dropped her head, looked down at the notebook and kept quiet.

Jonathan glanced at such Index and sighed. "Anyhow, then I recall my thoughts and remember how they looked like, and decide if I should record them at all. I don't record non-magicians. I do record other assassins though." Jonathan scratched his head with his pen and scribbled Marco's name down. "I think this is the monk I killed the other day. Do you think I'm right?"

"You're right," said Index silently.

Jonathan nodded slowly and wrote the number 2 beside Marco's name. Index noticed this and, despite being in a bit of a dilemma, got interested.

"What're the numbers for?" said Index, who then noticed that there were two numbers beside the priest's name—five and four. Index dragged herself closer to Jonathan and looked at all the names. All of them had numbers, but none had the number five or multiple numbers beside their names.

"This is their levels," said Jonathan. "It goes from Level 0 to 6. I've never recorded six yet. It's something like an idea, and even I am yet to encounter level 6 myself."

Index looked at her name and pouted a little when she saw the number 1 beside it.

"I am strong, you know."

"Whatever. My level-rating system has not only to do with strength, but also to do with how well you use that power. If you are just crazily strong and dumb, I give three. If you are crazily smart but weak, I also give three. If you are averagely strong and averagely smart…"

"You give one?"

"I give one," said Jonathan. "Good job. You're learning."

Index smiled and scratched her head. "Hehe…" Then, she jolted and quickly went back to her original pose, her face a little flushed. Even Jonathan had to smirk a little to that. He looked back at the note and started tapping his head.

"Level 0's are dumb and powerless. They are pretty much normal people, except that they can sense a little magic and perform some under specific conditions. Level 1's are mediocrely smart and mediocrely strong, absolutely smart and absolutely powerless, or absolutely dumb and absolutely powerful."

"Which am I?" said Index with a twitching smile.

"You are a little different," said Jonathan. "Your power itself is quite weak, but you borrow the power of the grimores, so you fall under weak but absolutely smart. You should be flattered."

In fact, Index _was_ flattered. However, she did her best not to show him that and snorted with her arms crossed. "If I were you, I'd have given me about level 7 or something."

"No such thing," said Jonathan. "Level 2's are mediocrely smart and mediocrely strong, mediocrely—"

"Woah, woah!" said Index. "I thought you said that already."

"I did," said Jonathan. "The difference is in the performance level. If the targets are veterans in field, even if their powers and levels are that of a 1, I give them 2's."

"You are really thorough in this, aren't you."

"This is the only _real_ record the deceased will have," said Jonathan. "And, I never want to forget their names and power when they die."

Index snorted. This Number One man-killer was saying this.

"Why do you even bother?"

Jonathan looked at the note and wrote down _demon/Holy Spirit_ beside the priest's name. "I kill them and I can forget them, but the dead will never forget me."

Index's eyes widened.

Jonathan didn't notice her and wrote _Perfect Memorization and 103,000 Grimores_ beside Index's magical name.

Index looked at Jonathan's feet. She was a little confused—would definitely not be the first time. At first she just thought this man was a professional with some dignity, but then she thought he wanted to become a normal human, and then she thought he was just disgusting slaughterer, but now…she almost thought he was noble.

He was weird.

He was so weird.

She had met many weird people in her life, but nobody as weird as him. It was as if he was a physical manifestation of the sum of all oddness.

"Hey," said Jonathan, "Index Librorum Prohibitorum."

That was out of nowhere. Index turned and looked at Jonathan's face with questioning eyes from calling her by magic full name. "What is it?" said Index, with a little surprised and still confused expression.

Jonathan sighed. "I seriously wish that that wasn't your real name," said Jonathan. "What is it?"

"What is what?"

"Your real name."

Index thought about it. Should she tell her?

In within a seconds, she answered. "I'm not telling."

Jonathan's hand that was supporting his head jerked and his head fell. He looked at Index with irritated face, but his eyes weren't a killer's eyes. Index smiled warmly at that, and Jonathan's irritated face faded a little. Instead, confusion took over.

"What?"

"Nothing," said Index. "So, are you done?"

Jonathan grimaced and looked at the note. He wrote N/A beside Index's name and closed the note. "…Well, there are days like this."

"Now, then, it's your turn," said Index. "And I seriously hope _you_ won't say cliché things like _I'm not telling_ or something along that line."

"You did."

"I'm cliché."

Jonathan gently put the notebook on the bed beside him and looked outside. The sun had set a long time ago, and he set the bugs so that he'll know if people come through road where he was.

"First of all," said Jonathan, standing up and sitting on the bed, "I have no idea from whom or from where I got this power. So, I can't tell you the origin story."

"That's fine," said Index. "Tell me about the power itself."

Jonathan sighed and smiled weakly. "I call it Imagine Breaker. It is the strongest anti-magic weapon in the history. There seemed to be different names in the past—dark magic, Devil's Hand, Reality—but Imagine Breaker is the original name. The first Imagine Breaker decided to call this power that."

"How did you know that?"

"I read it," said Jonathan.

"…And you trust the source?"

"The best source in the history. Yes, I trust it."

Index quieted down and listened.

"There are some rules to using this," said Jonathan, looking at his left hand. "First, it grows like cancer from the point of contact with the previous owner. In my case, it was the palm of my left hand." Jonathan grinned a little wider and looked at Index. "Second, it can only cancel _artificial_ reality. In other words, it cannot alter the outcome of the magic. If someone were to land a boulder on me via magic, I cannot cancel the boulder out."

"Why are you smiling?"

"Just reminded me of another magician who used that method but was shot in the throat before he could even pick up the boulder. Man, I just don't know why they want to tell the world what they are going to do."

Index sighed a little. She knew what he was talking about. Yelling the names of the spell that they just created, forming weird dragons or flowers or thorns out of the manifestations of magic for no good reasons, and talking and talking and talking before and after the battle.

"Third, if it grows enough to cover your head, you can retract it up to your point of origin—my left palm, in my case—and develop a second level of anti-magical ability called—"

"Imagine Destroyer?"

"In kanji, it'd be Gensei Byakusatsu-sha. Literally, I butcher the imagination by destroying the magic circuit. Granted, it's a weird name since it treats magic like people—"

"And turn magicians into ordinary people?" said Index, ignoring Jonathan.

Jonathan paused for a brief moment and cleared his throat. "Not quite. They were ordinary people to begin with. Anyone has certain degree of magical awareness. That's the idea behind the human evolution. Anything that humans wish to do, it is granted over a long period of—"

"I know. I was a magician."

"I'm turning them to something lower than a magician, I'd say." Jonathan crossed his arms and looked at his feet. "I'm turning them into…something like animals."

"That's harsh way of putting it. I'm a little offended."

"It's the truth and I couldn't care less."

Index smirked. "Yeah, good point."

Jonathan quickly glanced across Index's face and closed his eyes. "So, that's the idea behind my power. There are some more rules on the power, though. Say, I was a great magician, and I was able to do unnatural things. If I give up my power on its initial stage—"

"Wait, wait. You can give up your power?"

"Easily. Come here and give me your hand."

Index came closer, but twitched when Jonathan gave out his hand. "Are you sure? I can just take this power and not give it back to you."

"Sure. In that case, I'll be free from it and you'll be the next candidate for the Number One position. I'll be killed and done, but you'll have to serve the pigs for the rest of—"

"I get the idea," said Index, grabbing Jonathan's hand with her right hand.

Jonathan, without a single speck of waver or hesitation, said these words. "Imagine Breaker, I give up my ownership of you. Bind yourself to this right hand."

Nothing happened, but Index twitched. She released Jonathan's hand, looked at her right hand and blinked.

"You feel stronger?"

"Yeah…a bit."

As soon as she said that, Jonathan got out a knife in a blink of an eye and slashed her palm without question. Index blinked. It happened all too fast that she didn't feel pain at first. But, soon enough, a stinking pain began to grow from the edge of her right middle finger—that didn't exist anymore. Jonathan wiped off the blood and grabbed the middle finger from the floor.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Index began to struggle and kick everything on her path. This man just cut off her middle finger without question. And now, she was bleeding to death with crucial pain screaming from her right hand. However, Jonathan simply grabbed her wound and suppressed the bleeding. Index cried even louder.

"What the f***! Why would you do this! What was that for!"

Jonathan simply watched her finger without a speck of guilt. Then, Index also stopped struggling. Jonathan observed her and let go of wound, but blood didn't gush out of the hand. In fact, the wound was already healed.

Jonathan picked her middle finger up and put it on the wound. He waited for about ten seconds and released it. The point of separation was now linked. Jonathan smiled and looked at Index. "See. No prob."

Index simply looked at her middle finger with awe. There was still blood everywhere, but her hand was free of wounds as if nothing had ever happened on it.

"Your level of Destruction right now is about level 1, but you can still close up wounds like that in less than a minute."

"…Why?"

"I didn't create power, so I can't really say, but I tried it with one of my targets. Apparently, it even brings people back to life, and it can cure permanent injuries, like people born with no arm or extra arm. Then, I tried it my hand. I put the power on someone else and cut off my arm. Then, I asked the subject to give the power back to me, and my arm regrew from the wound."

"How did you convince them…" muttered Index, but she kind of could tell. He must have pointed gun at the subject and _asked _him/her to give Imagine Breaker back.

"Same thing in the sewer," said Jonathan. "I'm a Level 5 Imagine Breaker, and my whole body is covered with it. So, even if I get shot in the head, my brain regrows and I live. I forget stuff, though. I get shot in the heart, same idea. I splash my guts by jumping off from the manhole, same idea. I tear my arm off, same idea."

"But I thought you were dying."

"The only way I can die is by excessive blood loss," said Jonathan. "My blood doesn't _regrow,_ so it doesn't replace itself. I just die of lacking blood. The more I lose my blood, the less powerful I get, by the way. And the less powerful I am, the weaker the regeneration gets. I generally eat a lot because of that. I need more blood."

Jonathan pulled out his revolver and opened the barrel. "On the subject of blood, here's something I came up with."

Jonathan took out a bullet from the barrel and tossed it to Index. She was caught by surprise and almost dropped it, but managed to catch by her chest.

"It's a sand round. It is soaked in my blood. I've got about seventy of them in the refrigerator, and I always carry about twelve of them. I used one and threw away the spares, so I only have four now, but it's more than enough."

Index looked at the bullet. It was what it sounded like—a bullet made out of hardened sand. It had a red shell and brownish color—probably from the blood. The sand looked hardened enough, and it would have been better to call them stone rounds, but the rounds probably hardened this much after he soaked them with blood.

"For levels 1 to 3 of my power, the idea will not work superb and will only sustain itself for just thirty seconds max, but for a level 5 like me, it lasts for about one minute. And, as long as it stays within certain range from me, it works as Imagine Destroyer. Well, unless…"

"Unless the target pulls out the bullet somehow?"

Jonathan nodded. "What else do you want to know?"

Index hesitated for a while, and asked, "Why did…no, how did you become no. 1?"

Jonathan smirked. "I regenerate, I have almost absolutely accurate gunshot, I can delete magicians' powers, my whole body is an anti-magic weapon, and my blood itself is a powerful anti-magic weapon."

"…No, that's not what I meant."

Jonathan's smile faded. "Then what are you asking?"

"I guess I was a little unclear. I meant…why did you become an assassin—"Jonathan twitched—"in the first place?"

Jonathan looked at Index with emotionless eyes. Index noticed him and panicked a little. "Ah—you don't have to answer me if—"

"I really don't mind," said Jonathan. "It's really a boring story. It's not a hero's tale, really. It's just one boring story of a boy."

Index's mouth half-opened, then closed again.

"I was first noticed by some of the magicians. Then I was brought to the western magicians by some…well, not-too-nice magicians, and I was sold…yeah, I guess that's the best word to use. I was sold to some of the owners of the strongest assassins in the world, and I was taught how to use guns, knives, bombs…in short, I became an assassin. Of course, I also gave the owners their pleasures."

"Pleasures?"

"A child with built body and mind of steel. Paid for anything and ready for anything. You think they will somehow leave just me alone?"

Index gulped. "I'm…I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be," said Jonathan. "I got a job to delete them, so I deleted their dicks off their bodies anyway."

Index's mouth opened, and she pffted. "I'm—I'm sorry, I shouldn't…"

"Don't worry, it was really funny."

Index suppressed her laughter, and gulped down her joy. "So…yeah, that's nice."

"Anyhow, becoming the number 1 is a little dirtier."

Index's laughter completely disappeared. "Dirtier?" repeated Index.

"Simply said, I was hired to kill my teachers."

Index fell silent.

"As I said earlier, I was taught by some of the strongest assassins, so killing them made my reputation go up. After that mission, I was called the Number One."

Index was too tired of being disgusted that she simply nodded.

"So, you were being hired on and on by the scums of the society for jobs that only you could do?" said Index.

"That someone else could do too, but I could do easier…is the way I would say it, but that is one way of saying it, yes."

"It's a little late to ask now, but…" said Index, looking down at her feet again, "do you have any kind of moral code at all?"

"No."

A simple answer.

"You're lying," said Index.

"Why?"

"Even if you have been killing all the time, you need some kind of drive or excuse to take on the gun and shoot at the people."

Jonathan sighed. "Well, at first, I did."

"Then why—"

"I'm going to explain," said Jonathan. "Calm down."

Index closed her mouth again and looked at Jonathan with frustrated eyes. "You are right. I did need some excuse to take on the gun and shoot. But, the next job broke that moral code, and as soon as I created new moral code to accept that job, a new job that broke the new one, and another and another and so on and so forth." Jonathan's smile bitterly. "Soon enough, I stopped trying. I just took on the knife and stabbed people. I just took on the gun and pulled the trigger. I just grabbed the neck and snapped it into two. I just did it. And, that nihilism took me and comforted me indefinitely."

"Comforted you?" repeated Index.

Jonathan looked at Index. "Yes."

Index's eyes trembled. She clenched her clothes and bit her lips. Her body trembled as anger boiled up into her eyes. However, she waited. She waited and looked at Jonathan's mouth. This man was not a psycho killer. He was a nihilist—he was just empty.

At least, she wanted to hear his—its—excuse.

"Comforted me, yes," muttered Jonathan—almost breathing the words out. "Thanks to emptiness, all emotions passed right through me. All and every emotions that pierced me just passed right through me—love, attachment, hate, fear, justness…guilt. Especially guilt. Guilt broke me down numerous times before. Thanks to emptiness, I was able to mend my breakdowns."

Index's tremble died down.

"I think you are having some big misinterpretation," said Jonathan. Index's calmed down face slowly looked at Jonathan. "You are not talking to me, are you?" said Index.

"I am empty, but I'm not crazy enough to talk to a nonexistent someone else when a person is in front of me."

"But what exactly am I misinterpreting?"

"I think you assume that I'm some psychopathic bastard who kills on cold blood, but that there's something more about me that is more than just a man slaughterer."

Index's eyes sharpened. "Well, are you not?"

"Not at all," said Jonathan. "I'm just a psychopath who kills on cold blood. I'm nothing more than a man slaughterer."

"That line is not used by someone who is a man slaughterer, you know."

"This is _me_ we are talking about,"said Jonathan. "I know myself the best. I am empty. I don't do anything but kill. It's nothing more than that. I'm just a man killer."

Index began to tremble again.

"That again?" muttered Jonathan. He sighed and looked at the moon outside the window. "I think you were almost hoping for me to have at least some sense in me, but too bad. This is all I am."

Index shook her head. "That can't be…"

_Like I said before, not all people are as fortunate as you are._

Index's perfect memorization came to bite her as she remembered this line. She shut her eyes and groaned,

Jonathan ignored her, looked outside and narrowed his eye. "Still not yet?" He glanced at Index and grabbed her right hand. Index did not move an inch. Jonathan looked at Index's eyes and said, "Imagine Breaker, I reclaim your ownership. Return to me."

Index twitched. Her power drained away from her right palm. Jonathan blinked and waved his hand. "There we go."

"Wait, how did that happen? I thought you gave your power up. How did you steal that from me?"

"Imagine Breaker likes me more," said Jonathan. "That's usually how it works. It likes its previous owner more than the current one. In my case, my previous owner already died, so I have no problem."

Index clicked her tongue. "Then why did you talk about serving pigs for the rest of my life and all that?"

"Because it's the truth," said Jonathan, "and because I really don't like that power."

"And it likes you more?"

"I hate it but I need it, so yeah, it likes me more."

Index grunted. "I see." She looked at Jonathan's hand and remembered another important fact. "Does your Imagine Breaker still have two-meter-range rule even after giving away your power and receiving it again?"

"Yeah, since my body doesn't change. My body is already used to Imagine Breaker, so no matter what I do with Imagine Breaker, as long as I get it back, I have two-meter radius rule."

Index nodded. "I see."

Jonathan twitched. "You're still not satisfied, are you?"

"Not at all."

"You still hope that I am something more than a killer?"

Index grunted and nodded. Jonathan stood up and walked back to the bed and lay on it. "It's like this. I kill one, then three comes at me. If I kill three more, then I kill nine. So on and so forth. I have no excuse or way of atonement for them. Even my death won't bring the dead back. It is a sin unable to be erased. It's as simple as that. In that case, the answer is simple."

Index already knew the answer.

She wanted to cover her ears.

But…

She knew that that was just avoiding the unavoidable.

"I just kill all fifty nine thousand forty nine of them."

Index clenched her pants. "You're disgusting."

"I'm a human who adapts."

True.

He just let his feelings go so that he could cope with his guilt. He just let his feelings pass so that he could live another day as a human being.

No, that's a little wrong.

So that he could live another day as a man-slaughterer.

Jonathan observed Index's lamenting eyes and turned his attention back to outside the window. "It's about time, but they're still not coming, huh."

Index ignored him.

"Now that I've said my part, I want you to talk about yourself."

"Not happening."

"Aleister Crowley."

Index's eyes widened. She jerked her head and looked straight at Jonathan. She stood up and lunged at Jonathan's throat, but he simply grabbed her wrists and stopped her.

"How…what…why…"

"As I thought," muttered Jonathan. "You are in some kind of relation to him, huh."

Jonathan pulled Index's wrists and hugged Index. No, in truth, he held Index's right shoulder with his left hand and grabbed her nape with his right. Index's head jerked up and Jonathan stomped on her feet with his right foot. She gurgled, but didn't scream. Jonathan stood up on his feet and increased pressure on her feet, but she still didn't scream. He then got off from her feet and pushed her to the bed, letting her nape go. She fell powerlessly and Jonathan immediately mounted on her.

"I'm going to make this extremely simple," said Jonathan, who pulled out the steel knife from his thigh and put it close to her neck. "What is your relation to Aleister?"

Index closed her eyes and shut her mouth.

"I see."

Jonathan threw the knife to the side and grabbed Index's head. He used his knees to bind her arms and pressed right under Index's eyelids. She grunted in pain and opened her eyes.

"You can't play this game with me," said Jonathan. "We are going to live together from now on, and I don't have a single hard-on for rape. I am going to kill you when I feel irritated, not rape you. It's as simple as that."

Index looked at the disgustingly calm man with her trembling eyes.

"But, if you tell me your relationship with Aleister, I won't."

Index twitched. Jonathan let her eyelids go. She blinked hard from opening her eyes too long. However, Jonathan kept her face fixated on him so that if she opened her eyes, she was looking at him.

In the end, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"What is your problem?"

"My problem is that lots of people want you dead, but I don't. I have no problem obliging them, but they didn't give me the order. They put it so vaguely that I am angry myself."

Index twitched.

She didn't understand too much herself. Why would they want him to kill her?

"I've been thinking about the reason as I was talking to you about my hand, but I have no idea. And, judging from your expression, you don't either."

"No, I don't."

"So, I need you to tell me right now what your relationship with Aleister is. If you don't want to, I'll kill you. I've had enough impediments. I need to work on my next job with Aleister."

Index twitched and widened her eyes. Jonathan noticed this and raised his eyebrow. "So that's what caught you on."

"You have a job given by…him?"

"Him, huh," muttered Jonathan. She said _him,_ instead of his name. That meant either she was familiar with him, or, judging from her pause, was about to call him something else until she changed her mind.

But it wasn't his name. Because doing so will not spoil her relation with Aleister.

Suddenly, Jonathan twitched in realization.

It was so simple.

Why the voice wanted Index dead, why he was weary of his new job by Aleister, why the voice wanted to kill Index even by mistake by not providing him with enough information, why he wanted Index to die in his hands without staining his, why Aleister was caught by surprise when he mentioned Index Librorum Prohibitorum, why Index was weary of telling her relation with Aleister.

"You're his daughter?"

* * *

Index was not too surprised.

In fact, she was lost in her own thoughts.

It was obvious. Once Jonathan said that he was working for her father, it was all too obvious.

For _normal_ folks, this would not be too obvious, but for people like Jonathan—the Number One slaughterer—and Index—the smartest girl in the world—it was all too obvious. In truth, the two were unbelievably quick-witted since Jonathan figured out Index's relationship with Aleister from just one slip of a tongue, _him,_ and since Index figured out the secret from Jonatan's telling her that he works for Aleister.

However, Index was not too surprised.

Because she was too taken.

She finally understood.

She finally understood what kind of world she was living in.

After all, she was right. Jonathan was not disgusting. No, that was not the right way to put it. He was indeed disgusting, but that was not all there was to him.

No, not at all.

He was just empty, like he said.

Therefore, he portrayed the world the best.

He was the mirror to the world.

Through the emptiness, she could see all. She could see the world. She could actually see the world and not the façade it put on, such as _freedom for all_ or _freedom, equality and fraternity_ or all that crap people put on the flags and marched on for nothing.

It was all just façade.

Jonathan was the real window of the real world.

The disgusting real world.

"I'll just ask to make sure that my assumption is right, but…" muttered Index, "what kind of job did my father give me?"

Jonathan answered without hesitation—he didn't have any reason to hide it. "Slaughter the entire force of magicians who hired me to kill Alex. Alex offered more money for me to kill all of them. I said I'll go once I'm ready, and he agreed. I'm not ready yet. I think it'll take at least a year for me to be."

Index's eyes widened. "That's it…"

"That's it," said Jonathan as well.

That was it.

"They want you to kill me, because…"

"Yeah, I know now too," said Jonathan. "Once I figured you out, all easy."

Index nodded. Jonathan stood up from Index's body and looked outside. "Alex takes good care of you and wants you to live at all cost. That's probably why he gave you the perfect memorization and the 103,000 grimores."

"Well, he just gave me the grimores, and I was born with perfect memorization," said Index, "But pretty close."

"But, he made one enormous mistake," said Jonathan, too taken by the window to attend to Index's correction.

"Having the grimores in my head made my life as hellish as yours."

"The bigger the cheese, the more rats it attracts."

"I didn't want to live that way anymore, so I hired you."

"But that was a mistake. I was a worse killer than you thought me to be."

"And at the same time, you accepted a job from my father stating that he wants you to crash his enemy group to the ground."

"I accepted the job, and that was also a smart thing on my part. But, the voice didn't want that."

"He wanted either Aleister or you dead, or both of you dead. I can't think of any reason for which he wanted you dead, but I can think of millions of reasons for wishing my father killed."

"The voice then came up with a plan—to use you." Jonathan twitched and turned to the big wooden box.

"He wanted you to kill me, or harm me in any way, because doing so will turn my father against you," said Index, a little curious as to what Jonathan was doing, and slowly sitting upright from the bed.

"And, we will eventually have to fight."

"The target is most likely not you—they can still use you for other jobs, and they probably want to."

Jonathan pulled out two machine guns and grabbed one by his armpit. "Yeah. His target is your old man."

"They want you to kill him."

"The strongest magician alive."

"Aleister Crowley."

Jonathan opened the van door and walked out into the chilly night wind. "They want me to kill you because then I'll have no choice but to fight Alex."

Jonathan looked ahead. Just as he thought, there were several black vans coming to his way.

"Like I figured," muttered Jonathan. "Get off the van. You'll be a target if you stay there."

"Who are they?" said Index, taking off her hoodie and wearing the doctor's blue hoodie to increase camouflage. Indeed, white hoodie would get her spotted right away.

"In a word, I'd say punishers," said Jonathan. "They are going to kill you and make me suffer the consequences."

"How nice," muttered Index. "Do we have backup?"

"Do you think I'm a leader of a corp? I'm just an assassin." Jonathan twitched. "That said though, I have one helluva ally by my side, so I'm not too worried."

"Ally? You?"

"To be exact, your ally," said Jonathan, pulling the cock of the handgun and putting it on his side, and throwing a machine gun at Index. "Load it by pulling that small trigger at the side."

"I know."

Jonathan pulled out his revolver. He had no time to load, but he had only two bullets, and he forgot to bring extra sand rounds. On top of that, he threw all the backup rounds into the sewer to avoid odd eyes when he died, but that came back to bite him.

So right now he only had four sand rounds, plus one on Index's hands.

He'll be beaten.

Furthermore, he lost a lot of blood and was carrying an escort he must not kill or let die.

"This is one hell of a job." Jonathan grabbed Index who was having trouble loading the gun and jumped into the side of the street with bushes perfect for cover.

Jonathan stagnated his breathing. Three, no, four cars, about five in each. That was at least twenty armed people. The light footstep suggested pistols, but even so, twenty was a huge number, and he forgot to bring silencers. Every shot will confirm his location. On the other hand, they must have brought silencers.

"Goddamn…" muttered Jonathan. There was no dumb enough assassin—even himself—in the world to not bring a silencer to murder someone in the middle of a night, even if the area was deserted from city and rare of people. He could jump back to the car and get it, but there was not enough time and he was not too sure that he had extra silencers aside from the ones he brought to England.

"This is so f***ed up."

Jonathan pulled Index behind him. She yelped a little and Jonathan grunted. _Could she do anything right?_ Jonathan grabbed the sidearm and crouched. He dashed into the darkness before Index could say anything.

While running, several thoughts crossed Jonathan's mind—mainly about the situation that he was in, and partly about the revelation that he just figured out. He shook the part of his thought and focused on the main thought. The opponents were most likely non-magicians, and even if they were, they would be more of gunmen than magicians. Since the last time, the British must be at least aware of his power.

Jonathan silenced himself. The people in the car slowly got off and turned on their flashlights. They pointed ahead to the car and nodded at each other. And, to Jonathan's distaste, they brought out a bazooka.

And, Jonathan remembered.

_I should have picked the bazooka,_ thought Jonathan.

Unbeknownst to Jonathan's thoughts, the man with the bazooka fired. With an earthshaking noise, Jonathan's van exploded.

And, in synchronization to the explosion, Jonathan pulled his trigger. He aimed at the right spot from the right position and shot through two with one bullet. He kept shooting and dropping more to the ground. The explosion's noise effect wore off from Jonathan's ears, and he quickly climbed up to the road and hid behind one of the vans.

The men started muttering in British-English. Jonathan checked to see if he had any bombs, but he knew that the answer was a big no.

He crouched again and walked towards the back end of the car. The guards were restless as they were approaching Jonathan's van, now in pieces.

To Jonathan's pleasure, of course.

From behind the car, Jonathan quickly fired onto the shadows. The shadows were alarmed as they turned around to shoot, but they were in the light, while Jonathan was in shadows.

It took seven more bodies before they figured out Jonathan's position and started to suppress his fire. Jonathan crouched and rolled on the ground. He looked at the bottom of the car and shot through the legs. The fallen bodies were exposed of their heads which were skewered through Jonathan's merciless bullets.

Eight more bodies fell.

From Jonathan's estimates, only five were left.

The rest was easy.

Jonathan checked the magazine. No more ammunition. Even if he uses the sand rounds and kills four more, there was still more than one left, and he had to handle them barehanded.

But, if his accomplice is at least a little more useful than a termite…

Jonathan bit his lips. He took out the revolver and concentrated. Time seemed to slow down around him. As he stood up, he threw the empty gun to the van on the side, which collided against it with a loud thud. The rain of bullets immediately altered its course and began firing on the helpless innocent van. Jonathan loaded the first bullet and squeezed the trigger. Immediately, even before hitting the target, he got his thumb on the cock and loaded as the bullet hit the target. He pointed the gun onto the second target and squeezed the trigger. He then jumped and rolled to the side, still spending time in a slow motion. He slid from the road and into the bushes. He jumped and loaded and pulled the trigger and confirmed his hit on the second target. The third man jerked his head upwards as two more men noticed Jonathan and slowly began to alter the trajectory of the bullets. Jonathan then squeezed and pulled the trigger again to hit another.

And, before he fell down onto the ground face-first, Jonathan's eyes widened. The little lead pills flew to him and hit his rib cage and passed out of his backbone, and then fell face-first to the ground. The rest of the rain kissed the car that Jonathan first hid into.

Jonathan immediately zipped down his hoodie and tied the bottom ends of the hoodie together along the wound. Blood gushed through his black love of his life, as Jonathan's vision started to haze.

However, he did not feel that nauseated, despite having lost that much blood in the sewer.

Then it occurred to him.

_The doctor,_ Jonathan thought.

He seemed to take care of criminals of some sort and help them get back onto their feet. And, seeing a bloodied man with holes everywhere closing up at a groundbreaking speed, he must have supplied blood back into his bloodstream.

Jonathan smirked. He got up in pain and concentrated his Imagine Breaker on his wounds. He turned at the escort and found a dumbfounded girl holding a machine gun and looking at the lone man shooting the car down.

Then, the rain stopped.

Jonathan immediately jumped out of the bush and pulled out his knife. He ran towards the car and, using the car as a support, jumped towards the last man with his knife. The target quickly dropped the gun and—

And, he did not pull out his sidearm.

If he did and if he shot at Jonathan on his head, this story would have ended a bit differently, and there would be no continuation to this filthy tale.

Instead, he turned back and ran for his life.

Jonathan did not give an odd eye. He was the one who saw these cowards the most. He did not hesitate as he crouched down and ran for his dear life towards the last man. If the last man did have some sense in him to get out the gun and shoot at Jonathan, who, at the moment, was concentrating his Imagine Breaker to only his wound, the man would have won, and the tale would have ended there, but he did not. If he was a little faster than Jonathan, he would have quickly realized that he had a gun and Jonathan had a knife, and this tale would have ended there, but he was not.

Yes, he was not.

Unfortunately, Jonathan was faster.

He was not just a little bit quicker than the man. If that were the case, Jonathan would have lost the race, being that one was literally running for his dear life, and he himself was figuratively running for his dear life.

Jonathan was just absolutely faster.

Jonathan only took three more steps before he planted his knife onto the man's spine and slashed through his neck, decapitating him and killing him painlessly.

That is how he likes to think it, anyway.

Jonathan wiped the blood off his face and breathed in and out, huffing and coughing and puffing.

"I'm alive." Jonathan muttered.

"I am not dead." Jonathan muttered again.

He looked at the destroyed van.

"F***ing shit, I'm not dead."


	6. Chapter 5

Index closed her eyes and covered her ears, but the sound of brutal torture still echoed through the night sky.

"I'M NOT LYING! PLEASE! BELIEVE ME! I DON'T KNOW WHO HIRED US!" yelled the survivor in Japanese.

"Then I get to torture you more," muttered Jonathan. He slowly applied more pressure at the pressure point on the man's neck. The man tried to hold back his scream, but couldn't help as he yelled to the moon.

"That's enough!" yelled Index, running towards Jonathan with her eyes open. Jonathan relaxed the strength of his thumb and looked at Index with blank eyes.

"He said he doesn't know! Let him be!"

Index tried to get Jonathan off from the survivor of the sand rounds (the other three died of shock) that doesn't penetrate through bones, but remembered that this was Jonathan she was trying to extort through force, and gave up. Still, she looked at Jonathan with determined eyes and waited for Jonathan to get up.

Jonathan turned back at the survivor and pulled out a knife. "Do tell me, which balls do you like less—your eyes or your testicles?"

"For the love of God!" yelled Index.

"For the love of God!" yelled the survivor. "I DON'T KNOW! I don't know who hired us!"

"Both, huh," said Jonathan, as he grabbed the man's jaws and switched the grip of the knife to back-hand.

"Then just tell him everything you know!" yelled Index. Jonathan's hand stopped, and the man twitched a little. "You must know something about the hirer! Was it a she or a he? Was it by a screen? Did you at least get in touch?"

Jonathan stared at the trembling eyes of the man with dead eyes. The man, after gulping down his saliva, answered, "He…he was a man with a secretary-like voice…he told us that there was a man in this place who should be dealt with as soon as possible. We accepted the assassination and brought a number of agents here, but…"

The man looked at Jonathan's dead eyes.

"…He contacted us by phone, and he had a strange accent for Japanese. I can't quite explain it, but…he didn't sound like he was from Japan, but his accent was quite good."

Jonathan twitched his eye.

"I see," said Jonathan. "Did that man say anything else?"

"No, that's it. Even if he did, I wasn't informed of it, since I'm not one of the senior killers."

"What are you guys exactly?"

The man grunted. "We agents are…no, we were a 30-men group who protects Japan from its shadows. We don't have set name for ourselves, but those who know us call us the Dark Side, or sometimes the Shadow."

"I see," said Jonathan. "Thanks."

Jonathan switched the grip back. He covered the man's face and stabbed his brain through his nape so that he'd die without pain. Index turned away, but she still felt disgusted from the sound of a knife penetrating a man's neck bone.

"Now then," said Jonathan. He stood up with the corpse on one hand and walked towards the fire. He bit the sleeve of his hoodie and pulled his hand in. He walked around and opened the door with the hoodie protecting his hand from the heat. After quickly retracting his hand, Jonathan's face darkened.

He quickly tossed the man into the burning fire and used him as a stepping stone to walk into the van. The fire was almost dead, but a sound of bacon getting fried echoed in the van. Jonathan put on his hoodie hat and covered his mouth and nose. He, with a single hand, grabbed a coffin-like box and tossed it outside. A loud thud rang through the night.

Jonathan went on to his bed, where the note containing all his targets was hidden. After also tossing that outside, he single-handedly tossed the mattress to the side and got out two spare hoodies, one pair of jeans and a laptop and a soda-can-sized phone. Afterwards, he ran straight out leaving the body frying on the hot van floor.

Jonathan bit his sleeve again and closed the door.

"Are you all right?" said Jonathan to Index. Index twitched in a little surprise, but nodded. Jonathan sighed in relief and grabbed the nearly-burnt note.

"Thank goodness that van was tougher than normal cars," muttered Jonathan. "That sonovabitch, I'm going to kick his ass in one of these days."

Jonathan stared at the note with trembling eyes. Index twitched. She walked towards Jonathan and grabbed his shoulder. He jerked and shoved her hand, but stopped before he hit Index's face.

"Sorry," said Index. "I...just wanted to…"

"No," said Jonathan, "I just panicked. It's my fault."

Index smiled a little. "I see. I forgive you."

"I didn't ask for forgiveness," said Jonathan. "It's just my fault."

"I still forgive you."

Jonathan snorted. "Whatever." He stood up and put the note in his hood pocket. "Rather than that, don't you have anything to say?"

She jerked. "What?"

"I just fried up someone who I killed without hesitation after acting like I was going to let him live if he told me everything," said Jonathan. "What do you have to say for that?"

"Nothing," said Index. "You let him die without pain, and you used an available source to get your stuff. I don't see anything strange about that course of action, considering that it was you who did it."

Jonathan didn't say anything but just look at Index. He turned to the coffin-sized box and opened it. "Do you _really_ have nothing to say?"

Index jolted. Jonathan grabbed a small—about the size of an alarm clock—red box and a leather bag and closed the box back. He opened the red box and got out six sand rounds that haven't been soaked yet.

"The only reason my house was destroyed by a bazooka was that you refused to tell me about your father until the agents came to our doorstep. If you did, I could have drove out of this place and sent you to your father, who probably can keep you safer than me." Jonathan pulled out his knife and slashed his wrist lightly—not deep enough to cut his arteries. The blood flowed out into his palm and soaked the sand rounds.

Index didn't say anything. She knew that what Jonathan said was true, but she didn't want to admit that and apologize. If she were to be sent to past and do it again, she'd choose the same decision.

"I didn't want you to know that—"

"I know," said Jonathan. "I'm not going to blame you for that. I mean I'm not in any position to blame anyone."

Index bit his lips.

"That's not what I want you to explain," said Jonathan. "Why didn't _he_ intervene?"

"You handled the situation quite finely," said Index. "I don't think my…I don't think Aleister had to intervene."

Jonathan nodded. "I see how it is." He put the gun in his side pocket and turned to Index. "Now then, the sun's going to come up and people are going to gather, and they'll find thirty grown men killed and a van burst up, so I'm going to make this quick."

Jonathan smelt his hoodie and wrinkled his eyes. "First, I can't protect you like this every day. Someday you're going to die or I'm going to die, and I don't want either of that, especially the first."

"You care more about my life than yours?"

"In a way," said Jonathan. "If I die, that's the end of the story, but if you die, your father is going to go into rage mode and kill everyone in Japan."

"How can you be sure about that?"

"Didn't you just hear what that guy said?" said Jonathan. "He was not a part of an organized crime. He was a sort of a police. He works for Japan, and his group accepted the job of killing me, which means their aim and killing me does not conflict one another, and I very much doubt that they are the only ones who are going to come after me and you."

"Then what should we do? Can we fight an entire nation?"

"And that's the second point," said Jonathan. "Second, I can. I probably can't kill off a nation—especially Japan, considering that it is a land of country-lovers who forget everything and protect their nation when it's in a pinch, not to mention that there are 144 saints in this country—but I can save my own ass even from a country, especially a comparatively uninfluential country like Japan. Sure, its economic status is great and all that, but unless it's the United States or Russia or China or something on that line that we're talking about, I can save myself real easily."

"I see," said Index, sighing.

"You're not listening," said Jonathan. "I said I can save _my_ own ass, not yours."

Index twitched.

"So, here's the choice," said Jonathan. "Right here, right now, you can surrender to the guy I'm about to phone to threaten to cut his head off, or you can go to your father and surrender. Or, if you are up to it, you can come with me, but I'm not going to be responsible for your life."

Jonathan removed his hand from his wrist. The blood has long stopped and his wound was already closed. He took out stuff from his hood pocket and threw them to the floor. He zipped his hoodie down and took it off. "So, what's your choice?"

Index thought about it.

But saying that would actually be lying.

"I don't care what happens to me," said Index. "I can't choose the second one."

"It's the most reasonable course of action," said Jonathan. "Your father—"

"He can't protect me," said Index. "You're right. If you took me in, I'll probably die and these guys who are planning to use my father as an excuse to kill both you and him are going to succeed, but I don't think he can beat you. You are stronger than him."

"I really doubt that."

"You are," said Index. "With your power, my—"Index bit her lips. "Aleister can only watch as you plant a bullet into his head. But, at the same time, you cannot defeat a whole country with an escort you must not kill."

"So what is it?" said Jonathan, clearly irritated. "Do you want to live or not?"

Index paused for a moment, and said, "I'll come with you."

* * *

"And, what did you say?" said Saten.

John smirked. "What could I say to a girl who wanted to spend the rest of her life with me even if she gets killed?"

"YOU TOOK HER IN?! But you could have just asked her to surrender to the voice! That could have saved her!"

"Come on, Rui-chan," said John. "Do you seriously think that a guy who sent a group of men armed with guns and one bazooka will happily take a girl I sent?"

"But…but you know, you could tell them that she has nothing to do with you!"

'Well that's just not true, so I didn't."

Saten sighed. "So, what happened to the rest of the story? Did you fight Aleister or something?"

"Since the moment I was born up to now, I have never confronted Aleister…well, at least with my power, anyway," said John. He sipped the wine and looked at the horizon from the boat heading to Hawaii. "Rather, why do you want me to tell you this boring story when we are on our way to paradise?"

"Because it's partly weird for me to sit next to a fifty-year-old grandpa and sip some fruit juice with him while watching the sunset, and partly because you promised you will tell me about your life's story."

John sighed. "First of all, I'm only _hitting_ my fifties. I'm still at my forties. Second of all, I'm telling you, this is really boring. If some kid hitting second-year middle school syndrome wrote about this on some online site or something, no one will give a look and give cold shoulders."

"…"

"Lastly, can't I just give you the _Jonathan life package_ to your head and just get over with it? I'm tired of speaking and reminiscing, although looking back in time and explaining my younger life is kinda fun."

"If it really bothers you, you don't—"

"Like I said, I'm enjoying this," said John with a smirk. Saten smiled a little and sip more juice.

"Anyhow, how are you enjoying this so far?" asked John. "I've been telling you this story since the time we were on the plane, but you look nothing like bored. I'm even surprised that you are not drooling."

"It's not boring!" yelled Saten. "Well, maybe a little, but it's something I should know! Come on, what happened next?"

John sighed and sipped wine again. "Well, then I contacted the voice and told him that I was going to contact Aleister and kill him by working together, and also using all the knowledge from the grimores, and so he said he was sorry and he gave his word that he will not contact me again. I never heard from him ever again. Then, last week, when I returned to Japan, I looked around for him with my new power, and he was apparently working for the Dark Side now, under a group literally named GROUP. I didn't see anything that he did outside my rule, so I let him be."

John sipped more wine. "Anyway, I got an apartment in the place where the windowless building is today, and began living together with Index."

Saten sprayed the juice out of her mouth. "You began living with her? Does…does that mean…"

"You perverted little girl," said John with a smirk. Saten blushed a little, but didn't say anything. John enjoyed the shy Saten for a little while, and before he got too attached to it, he said, "Yes, obviously. We were both adults, and separating sexual relation from friendship when you are literally living together is quite difficult. I asked her later in the story—after I destroy GREMLIN and we all get safe—and she accepted. End of story. By then we were on friendly terms…well, with the worst possible definition of the word…with each other, so no one forced anyone."

Saten's face flushed even more. She grabbed the juice and gulped it all down, and coughed and spitted out a little from drinking too fast. John tapped the table lightly and froze the kinetic energy. The juice floated in the midair, and before anyone saw them, Jonathan manipulated vector to direct the juice back to the cup.

"…Thanks…cough!" said Saten, as she still had her face brightened up to her ears. "But really, I can't help but notice that you are a terrible talker."

John laughed and sipped on his wine. "Speaking of terrible talking, I did contact Aleister the other day to ask about my new contact. Do you want me to order another juice?"

"No, I'm…cough, I'm fine," said Saten, suppressing her cough and her embarrasses.

John smiled and thought back again in time.

* * *

"I heard that you are living with the Prohibited Library now."

"Okay, I need to ask you now," said Jonathan. "What's up with the two of you? Why is your daughter calling you by your name and why are you calling your daughter Prohibited Library? Is it because you don't want me to know her real name? Well, let me save you some time. I know."

For a while, no answer came from the opposite side of the line. "I see," said Aleister, "but sadly, that's not it. My…the Prohibited Library is cut of its bound to all human relations once it bears the weight of the grimores. Because of that, I am no longer fit to call her my daughter, and she is no longer fit to call me her dad."

"Who cares about those technicalities? Just call her Prohibited Library around technical people."

"Sadly, I cannot do that," said Aleister, not a single sadness found in his voice. "I am a magician, and for magicians, names are as important as their lives. One must not let any other magicians call him or her by any other name than he or she was granted by the affiliation he or she is grounded to. That includes calling the names of others as well. Calling them by their nicknames or calling them anything besides their original names is but a taboo. One can turn the owner of the name's affiliation enemy by saying that."

"To hell with that," said Jonathan. "Who made that stupid rule?"

"I did."

For a moment, a grave silence fell.

Jonathan sighed. "Whatever's fine. Do as you wish."

"I'm glad that you understand."

"I don't understand, shithead," said Jonathan. "I just don't care anymore."

Silence fell.

"So, I understand that you are living with my…the Prohibited Library?"

"Why do you bother?"

Aleister almost grunted. "Have you…done it?"

"For the love of…" Jonathan sighed. "First of all, she's mine now. I don't care what you think of her. As long as she's in my possession, I can do anything to her. Besides, if I really wanted to, I could just have killed her and you and just gone back to…"

"What are you talking about?"

Jonathan grunted. This was he and his running mouth's fault. He should have just told him that he did it. "Yes, some people who hired me before wanted me to kill her, but I contacted them and all's good now. You don't need to worry about anything."

"Why should I trust you?" said Aleister.

"You don't have to," said Jonathan. "Just know that the number one assassin in the world—someone you never wanted or never will want to turn into an enemy in thousand years is sworn to protect her."

Silence fell.

"Do you swear on your name?"

"Pick something else. Name means absolutely nothing to me."

Aleister thought for a while. "Do you swear on your title?"

"Well, I guess, but that doesn't mean that much either."

"Then I will believe you," said Aleister, ignoring the second half of Jonathan's sentence. "If you let her die, you must stop your path as an assassin and try your best to make money as a man-slaughterer."

"Deal."

A sigh of relief—Jonathan couldn't believe his ears, of course, since that ice man was this caring about his daughter—was heard. "Thank you for taking care of my…of her."

"Yeah, whatever," said Jonathan. "That asides, I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"I just lost my contact who gets the hirers for me, and now I'm jobless although I've got lots of savings." Jonathan cleared his throat. "Can you look for a contact for me?"

"I see, a contact, huh." Aleister fell in silence for a short while, and said, "I will not be able to do it, since I myself is under surveillance. I cannot afford to give my enemies more clues on my whereabouts."

"I understand," said Jonathan, "and I'm not asking you to either. But I know that you have a number of people you are connected to, and if you do get me a contact, I'll do your job with half the original price."

"You do not have to cut down the price," said Aleister. "I'll do it for free."

"Oh, that's great. You're a life-saver."

"…Because I can't do it."

Jonathan grunted. "I should've known that you'd say that. Why not?"

"I don't have contacts I could approach to. Most of them are my enemies, and few who I can approach to are already dead or under someone else's use. I can only offer you my job."

Jonathan clicked his tongue. "Are you sure you're not trying to make me only work for you?"

"I'd be certainly tempted at the offer of the number one working for me, but it is not the case this time. I simply am telling you the truth." Aleister then grunted. "But…"

"What?" said Jonathan, a little desperate now. "You have an alternative?"

"Well, it's more of a suggestion than an alternative, but…" Aleister cleared his throat. "What if you use the Prohibited Library?"

Silence fell.

"…Excuse me?"

"Like I said, the Prohibited Library—"

"Let me see if I'm not missing anything," said Jonathan. "You want me to use a girl, an ex-nun at that, who lost all her powers and now is under my protection, to act as a contact for assassination of people who can easily send innocent people to jail?"

"First of all, she is under your and my protection. No one will try to harm her if they are told that. Second of all, she has the most analytic brain for a human being in the world. She can calculate long numbers in her head, figure out five moves ahead, and memorize anything and everything she experiences."

Jonathan tried to object, but unfortunately, he thought about it.

And, it made sense.

He had all of the records of his previous deletions—his laptop's hard drive was thankfully not damaged too much and he could recover what he lost in analog—and if he gave her the list of the names, and if he gave her enough time, she could work as one of the voices easily.

Jonathan didn't need to talk any more politely to this man. He hung up.

* * *

"Now then…" Jonathan took out a cigarette and lighted it up, thinking about his situation and future.

Even Jonathan smirked at the fact that he was thinking about something as down-to-Earth as his own future.

Anyhow, right now, he was settled in Japan. He didn't like it, but as he was now, he couldn't reject it. He was basically jobless at the moment, and he had to save every last penny of his savings, considering that he might not be able to work again.

Still, he wasn't too worried. He was the only one who could do what he did. If he withdrew from assassination, other assassins who cannot do what he does will die and he'll soon be called again. He just had to watch the news and contact the people who lost.

However, now that he might have a contact, he can be saved.

Index indeed was an admirable candidate for a contact. Her experience didn't matter that much. Being a good contact depended on the level of smooth-talk of the contact and the skill of the assassin. If Jonathan taught her some of the basics, he'll be good to go.

The fact that she was a former nun and a crazy lover of peace startled him a little, but that wasn't quite true anymore. She began to have dead eyes as well, ever since she understood that he was nothing but a mirror.

Jonathan sipped the smoke and exhaled. He was also a little saddened by the fact that she was becoming a nihilist, but he couldn't help it. Rather, the fact that he couldn't stop her from being one.

Jonathan sipped smoke too much and coughed. He looked at the cigarette and dropped it and stepped on it. He bought a new pack out of spite but it was not his taste.

Jonathan's eyes darkened. He thought about throwing the whole pack away, but he would not get his money back.

"Goddamn…" muttered Jonathan. He brought out another stick and bit it, but didn't light it up.

Jonathan looked at his watch. It was getting past 6PM, but the days were shorter and the night sky engulfed Jonathan. Jonathan didn't hate the night, but he hated the moon. It was not even a star itself, and was just a huge rock, but it had some guts to show off the lights that were not even its own, while the real sources of lights shone much darker in the distance Jonathan couldn't even guess. It had some guts to brightly shine and change as it wished in the night when there were no lights at all.

It was one astronomical showoff.

* * *

"And then what happened?" asked Saten.

John looked at the horizon and sipped the wine. "Well, I went back, asked her if she wanted to be my contact—I kinda wish now that I could have kept some suspense before saying _contact_ so she'll misunderstand—and she thought about it and said yes. So, afterwards, she gave me jobs that fit me the best and I never got another death threat from fighting anymore...well, at least from the jobs she offered."

"Just like that?" said Saten. "She took the job?"

"Yeah. She probably was feeling a little guilty that she was eating all my food—and she was a big eater—so she didn't think too long. I said she can withdraw any time she wants, but in the end she stayed loyal to the job."

Saten saddened a little, but she just scratched her head and forcefully smiled. "It can't be helped, right?"

John smiled. "You're right. It can't be helped."

The two of them drank and watched the dusk approach in the aquarium of night. "Well, this was fun!" yelled John. Other people looked at them, but soon ignored and went on their way, laughing and talking. "I hadn't talked this long about anything since my birth."

"Wait, don't make it sound like it's over!" said Saten, smiling as well. "What happened next? What did you do?"

"Well, obviously, I only had one job, so I went on to destroy the GREMLIN. The idea was to destroy them so thoroughly that=="

"Come on," said Saten. "I thought you liked talking. We've got all the time in the world—literally. Go on and tell me your story." Saten gulped down the juice, this time without choking, and slammed the glass on the table but not too strong to crack it. "How did the hottest assassin in the world manage to take down an entire magical organization by himself?"

John smirked. He finished the wine as well and stood up.

"Come on," said John. "The story's just beginning."

* * *

**Another story finished!**

**Good day, this is lvl7judgelight.**

**First of all, I know some people might think _this guy is finishing up because this book is not gaining attention._**

**Well, I didn't start writing to gather notoriety to begin with, so I didn't care as much.**

**As John and Saten suggested in the end, story's just beginning.**

**I originally planned on not dragging on for the book and finishing up as fast as I can. Still, as the story goes on, I believe that more details will give breath to more lengthy chapters or more chapters for the arc, so by the end, which is the 7th arc, I think it'll be about 9 chapters long.****  
**

**Secondly, I was shocked too!**

**I personally am a great fan of Gen Urobuchi's works, but I didn't create the sand rounds and the like after watching fate zero. I came up with these before I watched the actual series, and was genuinely surprised of the similarity.**

**The first idea of sand rounds came from Aleister saying that Touma's blood has some use in it, and I immediately thought that the blood must have some reminiscence of the imagine breaker, no matter how small.**

**Then I thought, _if I freeze Jonathan's blood and put it in a shell, it could be used as bullet._ The first sand round was an ice round, following this principle, but I realized that this was less effective and more time-consuming, not to mention the fact that this couldn't be made or preserved by one man. So, I thought of cotton rounds, but...well, that was too pushing to think that cottons could penetrate human skin.**

**So, I came up with sand rounds. It was much easier to make than ice rounds, and not as painful as making origin bullets of fate zero.**

**Though that said, I did recognize a huge similarity between Jonathan and Kiritsugu. They are both mage-killers, both nihilists and both are ruthless (and they both change in the end).**

**However, I'd like to say that this was ABSOLUTELY NOT BASED ON FATE ZERO! Please believe me!**

**Speaking of sand rounds, I'd like to use this time to mention some of the other uses of Imagine Breaker that was mentioned and/or not clarified in the book.**

**1. Sand Rounds**

**These are basically rocks. Since they're rocks, Jonathan can't penetrate skulls or the like with these, but he uses a low-accuracy revolver with strong effect to hit the empty spaces between the joints or the stomach so that it'll be hard to pull them off. They act as a minute-long Imagine Breaker, than fade away because of something Jonathan calls as _purification._ Basically, the density of his blood gets thinner and thinner as the blood of the target pumps out the _impurities_ of Jonathan. Although physically speaking, this can never be completely eliminated, it thins out the blood conservation and kills off the Imagine Breaker.**

**2. Imagine Destroyer**

**Jonathan is the only one in the history (so far, anyway) to use this power. It is condensing the Imagine Breaker to the point of origin and destroying the _magic circuit (_I realize that this is another fate zero reference...goddamn) and render the magician powerless for eternity. Usually the magus, having lost their meaning of life, try to at least kill Jonathan along with them, and gets their head blown off. The range of Imagine Breaker must cover at least the head to trigger Imagine Destroyer of a millimeter-sized Imagine Destroyer at the tip of the finger. In Jonathan's case, when he concentrates the Imagine Breaker to just his upper left arm (from his left hand up to the elbow), he can perform destruction.**

**3. Blood**

**The blood is later used in replacement of sand rounds. Jonathan, time-wisely, used his blood before to spray it on the target's body. It works the same way with sand rounds except that the time limit is just 15 seconds since it is not inside the target's body (it is weaker). But, usually, 15 seconds of no magic gives enough time for Jonathan to skewer the opponent.**

**4. Imagine Breaker Armor**

**It's what it sounds like. If Imagine Breaker covers the owner's whole body, it can work like an anti-magic armor.**

**...and many more to come.**

**I actually wrote one that appears in the 3rd arc and erased it since it was too much of a revelation.**

**Anyhow, lastly, to talk about the book itself.**

**This book, Toaru Majutsu no Imagine Destroyer, is a story of Jonathan, or John Smith before he was a level 7 and a smirking jackass. It is partly to show the transition of Jonathan to John, and partly to reveal (at least I'd like to think that it's revealing) some things about Academy City and about Aleister and Lilith.**

**The book is divided into 7 arcs: Index Arc, GREMLIN Destruction Arc, Saint Annihilation Arc, Tachibana Misuzu Arc, GREMLIN Revenge Arc, Imagine Weaver Arc and Level 7 Arc. Each stories won't be too long, like I said, but will be lengthened as the story goes on, especially Misuzu Arc where Jonathan takes a great leap in personality.**

**And, before I conclude, I'd like to make clear of another point that I must keep repeating.**

**Jonathan/John Smith is not a hero. They don't protect the justice. They are both crazily powerful, but one realizes that he is not powerful enough to fend off the dark side of the world, which he therefore accepts and mirrors, while the other realizes that no amount of physical strength can save the world from its damnation. This is why John, despite being basically a god, lets Aleister run his project until the very end, because he is not sure if doing so will really put the world into damnation.**

**This is the message of this arc. This isn't a message that Jonathan is strong, or an introduction to some other bloody fights. The message is that no matter how much we want to save one another, it cannot be done solely by physical strength. I think that is partly where Kamachi was going, but now that Touma is just a flag-raiser, mid-school lolicon and a OP senile, I think the message is lost.**

**Speaking of which, yes, I've read both the manga and the light novel, and maybe it's just me who feels this way, but I don't like where things are going. Whether, I should say that I don't like that things aren't going. The story is _too_ complex. It just creates more heroines after another that I began to think that the story was not progressing enough, which surprisingly many toaru fans agree with.**

**Of course, I like seeing deredere misaka and a girl with godly power who wears black bikini, but I can't help but think that toaru could be so much more than just that.**

**And, as an heads-up, if you didn't like how gory and dark this story was, I apologize. I put it as T so that more people will read it, but seems like I scared some people off instead.**

**Just know that it's going to be more gory from here on.**

**Well, then, until next time.**

**IF anyone wants pdf, I'll be more than willing to give out. I'll post whether it's done on description when I include some artworks.**

**As always, thank you for reading.**


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